


Heaven, You're My Heaven

by xiria14



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Inspired by a Movie, Multi, Past Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:27:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3227504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiria14/pseuds/xiria14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon is glad to find himself the perfect flat. It's quiet, cheap, the furniture is great, and there's even a private access to the rooftop. The perfect piece of heaven to start rebuilding himself. So sad it all comes with a ghost!</p><p>An adaptation of the movie "Just Like Heaven"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janie_tangerine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/gifts).



> This work is a gift to janie_tangerine, who I admire for writting so many of my favorite Throbb fic! I promised you this a long while ago ::cough:: More than one year ago ::cough::  
> I hope you get to enjoy this as much as I enjoy reading you!
> 
> If anyone sees any mistake, either spelling ones, grammar ones or in the adaptation itself, please feel free to tell me!

Chapter One 

_Cool wind brushes gently against Robb’s skin as exquisite perfumes hit his nose and fill his lungs with a feeling of blessed serenity. In front of him, great banks of flowers of all shapes and hues stand in perfect harmony against rocks and different shapes of herbs and plants, trees and bushes, cut with perfect taste by various paved paths._

_What catches his eyes the most though are the fishes. A fountain has been created over a pond in the middle of the clearing on which he sits. small basins carved in the stone allow the water to run through different intricate path between rocks and vegetation, only to end in the pond in which dozens of small fishes in all color swim happily, seemingly only for the pleasure of his eyes._

_There’s even some kind of warm mist which seems to bellow over the ground and create a feeling that the garden is floating among the clouds. The sight is perfectly heavenly_

_He inhales and exhales slowly, savoring the way the pure air tranquilizes him and soothes the tension out of his stressed body, leaving behind only relaxed limbs and appeased mind. Everything is so perfect here, in his perfect garden of calm and rest. Robb would stay there for the whole eternity if he could. Nothing would make Robb leave this place. Robb…_

 

“Robb! ROBB! Come on guy, get home or stay with us!” Robb opens his eyes in a startle when a hand grasps his shoulder and shakes it for good measure. It is gone just as he looks at Grenn, a tall burly man with a light copper beard and blue eyes which always make something flutter in Robb’s chest when they lay on him. Grenn, who is now looking back at him with concern in his eyes.

“How long was I out?” Robb asks while fighting futilely the blush rising to his cheeks. He cannot believe he has fallen asleep on the job. This has never happened before, and it’s not as if it is the first time he takes on some extra hours. And one of his sexy coworkers had to shake him awake for God’s sake.

Grenn opens his mouth to talk, but a tall, wiry man with a thin face and dark hairs, Pypar, cuts him. “Come on Grenn, There’s a third degree burn in 305. Need you now!” And with that Pypar is gone.

Grenn curses and hurry out of the room with no other look at Robb. Maybe a next time they could…Robb shakes his head to chase the sleepiness and his dreamy thoughts out of his head. They are at work. He has no time to fool around or have romantic daydream while people need him. He has worked so hard to get there; it’s not to satisfy some crushes of him. 

Just as he’s bringing to his lips an unhealthy dose of coffee, sugar and cream, a tall, imposing woman with milky skin and blond hair enter the room in long strides. Brienne serves herself a more decent amount of coffee, with barely a hint of cream and sugar in it. As she sips at it, she looks intently at Robb, who looks sideways to hide his guilt.

“How long have you been here, Robb?” She asks with concern in her voice. Her tone makes him think of his mother, when she thought Robb was sick or something was wrong with him. She always had that way to know things. Brienne doesn’t seem to know that she sounds so much like his mother when she talks to him like that.

“20 minutes.” He answers after a good minute looking at the clock and trying to do the maths in his head. Gosh, was he that tired? 

“I didn’t mean how long you’ve been in break. I meant how long since the beginning of your shift.?” The tall woman asks with even more concern in her voice. 

Ha! Of course! “Twenty three” he says before bottoming up the last gulps of his coffee. He swiftly throws the carton cup in the recycling bin while ignoring Brienne’s snort.

“Come on Robb! Go back home!” She says with some exasperation in her voice. She really has been acting like a mother toward him since the accident. He likes it most of the time, but now he’s just annoyed. Yet he cannot find it in him to bring it up to her. She’s been so kind ever since he’s been put under her tutelage.

“It’s not what will help me get an intern post, Brienne.” He finally says, moving past her and hurrying out of the room to get back to work, not letting her have the chance to reprove him any further. 

And so he gets back to the hospital’s lively turmoil. As he goes out the door a nurse waiting for him comes see him with different folders, asking for the patient’s release. He accepts for the first, Ygritte, who only needs to be shown how to clean her stitches since her archery accident, but not for Lolly, who’s pregnancy is still too unpredictable. The nurse goes with that, just as a tall man with golden hair and an arrogant swag to him approach Robb.

“I’ve taken care of room 6 while you were sleeping, princess.” He says to Robb with a sufficient smile.

“What? I wasn’t sleeping…” Robb tries. 

But the man, this damned asshole Jaime, pays no attention to it and just continues his walk away from him with barely a smug “You’re welcome.”

“Do you want to marry me?” Old Pycelle asks from his wheelchair. Robb turns on himself to face the old man, whose reputation for asking young nurses and doctors in marriage has long been established. Poor old man! It must be hard having liver cancer plus Herxheimer both. At least he seems to keep a positive attitude, though maybe a little bit too lecherous.

“Of course, mister Pycelle! Just let me ask my sister if I can borrow her wedding gown. ” Robb says with his best smile on. “Jeyne! Jeyne?” He calls loudly, searching the pretty brunette nurse who’s always so kind and helpful, although he has noticed that she has been harder and harder to find lately.

“I’m coming!” A feminine voice says from being him.

As he turns over, Robb sees Jeyne Poole jogging toward him, hurriedly attaching her loose brown hair. How can she manage to get them undone all the time is a mystery to him.

“Could you bring back my fiancée to his room, please? And lower his morphine prescription,” He tells her, receiving a polite smile from her and “aye” in answer. Mr. Pycelle waves at him, boasting about him having full of advantages after having been the councillor of four kings. Robb only waves awkwardly at him and waits until Jeyne and the patient have turned the corner to turn his back on them. 

Ouf! He passes to the next patient right away. He tranquilizes a junky Joffrey who was attacking a submersed Jaime, then does stitches, then blow a balloon to cheer up poor sick Robyn. He agrees to another marriage demand when he crosses Mr. Pycelle’s room to get to another patient. 

Hours of that later finds him back in the restroom where he drinks the umpteenth coffee since the beginning of his shift. Seriously, he’ll have to get better care of his liver. He still drinks the blessed drink while listening to his colleagues chatting about their lives outside the Winterfell’s Hospital. Brienne is putting some make up to hide the rings under her eyes, looking at herself with her small pocket mirror, while Daenerys and Arianne are friendly chatting not far away.

“There’s a patient you want to seduce tonight, Brienne?” Robb asks in joke. He hopes Brienne doesn’t just go back to her motherly advices. He really doesn’t want to be bothered with it again. 

“I’ve found out patients are less scared of me when I don’t talk to them with dark circles under the eyes.” She says fondly, looking pointedly at Robb for some seconds before going back to her work.

“Or rather she has a date tonight!” Arianne beams while laughing in her hands at Brienne’s outrage face.

“I don’t! I’m just meeting back with the mother of my ex, Willas, who still doesn’t know that were no longer together. I don’t want the death of that old lady on my conscience if she has a heart attack at the new.” Brienne explains sullenly.

“Well, you’re lucky!” Daenerys says between two mouthfuls of salad. “I’ve got to sew three dragon costumes for my kids when I get back home, and all for next Monday.” She exclaims with exasperation.

“And I have Viserys all over me, asking me when we’ll have our own little dragons. I don’t even have time to epilate my legs anymore.” Arianne huffs in a sigh.

“Stop epilating your legs and he’ll leave you alone, trust me!” Brienne says in a chuckle, making the other girls and Robb laugh. 

“You’re so lucky, Robb, to have no other concerns but work!” Arianne says as they all cheerfully rise from their chairs and make their way out of the restroom. As the girls all continues their way, Robb finds himself frozen on the spot, his smile gone and a weird ache filling his chest. Is it true? Does he have nothing else than his job?

There is no lover waiting home for him, nor any pet who demands his attention, or child who depends on him. He has friends and his siblings, but he is so tired after a day or two at Winterfell’s that he never finds the time or the energy to do anything else than sleep, eat and watch some TV. The last time he has seen someone who was not work related was at Arya’s birthday. He had been late because of work, and had arrived just as the last crumbles of cake were eaten down. But his brothers and sisters had still been glad to see him and him them. That was…two months ago, if his calculations are right. Gosh, already two months have passed and gone by without him noticing it.

Just as he makes his way to another patient, his phone rings and he hurries to answer it. 

“Robb? Are you still at work?” Sansa says in a concerned voice. Shit, he is supposed to join her at her house for a dinner in family.

“Yes, Sansa. Am I late?” He asks with guilt.

“Not yet. You are supposed to be here at seven, in one hour. Will you still make it?” She asks in her kind, gentle tone.

“Of course. I would never miss the opportunity to eat your good cooking! What’s on the menu?” 

“Lasagnas with meat. It’s great in carbohydrates and in proteins. It will do you some good; better than your salads and coffees. Come on, hurry up here. There’s even a special guess just for you.” She says with a tone he has always associated with her romances stories.

“You know I’m not interested in blind dates, Sansa. It’s always awkward when we just don’t fit and have to support each other through it for a whole evening.” He says with exasperation.

“It will do you some good to meet somebody who is not bleeding all over you or full of holes. Come on, a good friend of me has assured me that the guy is nice, nearly perfect for you. Please, Robb, don’t miss it.” She asks in her special pleading tone that Robb has never been able to say NO to. 

He sighs, then marks a long pause as if he really is thinking about his answer. When he feels he has let Sansa simmer enough in her angst, he fakes his relent. ”Okay, Sansa, okay. I’ll be here.”

“Perfect!” She giggles with excitation. Her laughs turn to groans of rage in the next instant. “Who has put his direwolf plush in the lasagnas?” High pitch laughs follow her cry, and Robb wastes no time in hanging up on the discussion.

As Robb walks to get to his new patient, he finds himself just behind Jaime, who’s talking with his cousin and coworkers Lancel. “Yes, I have a proposition in both. Either I stay here, at Winterfell’s, or go to Castlery Rock’s Hospital. I have to make the choice between good meat and nice desperate women or old cows and boring elders. The choice is so hard to make!” He bloats as Lancel nods his head enthusiastically. Such a fucking jerk, Robb thinks to himself. What does he do in a hospital if he cares so little about tending to people? And did he mean that he got the internship position Robb has been working so hard to get?

“Dr Stark, Dr Lannister, come here please.” A commanding voice says behind them. Jaime looks startled for a mere second to find Robb just behind him as he turns back to answer the request of their superior. But the smug smile reappears in a heartbeat as they both walk toward Doctor Chief, Davos Seaworth. Who looks at them both with his piercing eyes. “There’s a gunshot victim from Harrenhall’s center. Who takes it?” He asks in his professional tone. Both Robb and Jaime volunteer, and Dr Davos looks at the both of them intently. “Dr. Lannister, how long have you been here?” He asks.

“Twelve hours, Dr Seaworth.” Jaime answers with a fake professional face.

As his superior eyes get on him, Robb finds himself unable to look at his boss, and looks down. “Some hours more.” He answers in a whisper.

“Lannister, you’re on it.” He commands, and Jaime makes his way to the emergence room. “Stark, stay with me.” He adds as Robb is about to turn around and go lick his wounds. Goodbye internship! He looks up at his superior, not knowing what to expect from him. Was it a reprimand? Advices? Or even suggestions as to where he would get transferred? “I’ve decided to keep you here at Winterfell’s. I hope you didn’t have wishes to go anywhere else!” He says with a smile.

Robb doesn’t know what surprises him more, the offer or him instantly wrapping his arms against the older man and hugging him fiercely. He backs off in guilt only moments later, hoping Dr. Seaworth won’t reconsider his offer right away. “Sorry.” He mutters instantly. But Dr Seaworth only keeps smiling.

“You’ve deserved it, Robb. Contrary to some people here, you work really hard and seem more concerned about our patients’ care than to lick my ass. I like it.” He says in a whisper, near Robb’s ear to signify that this comment was to remain between them.

“It’s so great, Dr Seaworth! Thank you. There’s so much I want to do here!” Robb exclaims in excitation. But it only serves to put a glare on Davos’ eyes.

 

“The first thing I want you to do, Robb, is to go home. You’ve been here 26 hours. I know everything.” He says with authority, yet with a small smile. 

Robb is so glad! He still says Thank You a good three times before Davos nearly kicks him out. At last his hard work has served. He will get to remain close to his family and his friends rather than being shipped gods know where!

* * * * * 

Thirty minutes and a sneak report examination later, Robb walks cheerfully toward his car, already picturing the smiles on his siblings’ face when he’ll tell them of this new development in his career. By a weird hazard, Jaime is at his car in the same time Robb is at his. He goes to open his mouth and ask how the gunfire went, but Jaime cut him out right away with a forced “Congratulation for the promotion.” Robb is astounded by it. He doesn’t know what to say. “I’ve got a better proposition in Castlery Rock’s,” He says in a dismissive tone. He doesn’t give Robb any time to answer that he’s already in his care, taking off.

Robb doesn’t let this small discussion disturb him for long. As he starts the engine and carefully makes his way out of the Hospital’s parking, he calls his sister. “Sansa? I’m sorry for being late! But I have great news for you! Guess who’ll get to remain at Winterfell’s hospital as an intern?” He asks with fake wondering.

“Oh my god, Robb! It’s fantastic! Nice shot, bro! And don’t worry about you being late. Your date too hasn’t shown up yet!” She says with excitation. “We’ll drink some champagne tonight it seems!” She adds in giggles.

“Yes! I’ll be here in a minute or so!” Robb says with ecstasy. He hung up and put his phone down, then feeling in the mood, turns the volume of his radio up some more. His eyes barely leave the road three seconds, yet, when he raises them up, big blinding lights are rushing toward him. A loud, vibrating sound fills his ears as everything becomes white, then black


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

“This is just like Heaven! This apartment is usually not for rent. But the great … artist, Satin Flower, is away for a contract which should last nearly a year. Watch how splendid it is!” The estate agent exclaims enthusiastically to Theon.

Theon sighs as he steps in his fifth flat of the day. This one is well furnished. TOO well furnished. Like, he would definitely never walk in there in the dark of the night for fear of knocking one or four vases, or sculpture or lamp. There’s just so many things that Theon nearly feels suffocated after barely one minutes in there. The fact that there are paintings of men in their…entire splendor on every wall doesn’t help. Neither does the feeling of being swallowed whole by the velvety couch which color is hard to determine seeing how many colorful cushions are covering it. He looks at the gigantic TV in front of him, and the two surrounding explicit paintings. Then he hesitantly looks at the two wooden sculptures of muscular rears at his eye level, on both side of the couch. When he finally looks at the estate agent, his face must convey all the unease he feels at the thought of remaining one moment more in there, let alone live in there for weeks or months. 

The estate agent, Bronn, loses his hopeful smile and says “I feel like it’s a No.”

Of course he does. By now, Theon does not even feel the need, or the energy, to talk anymore. He’s just fed up of it all. He simply awkwardly manages to get out of this damned couch, grace forgotten. He doesn’t talk as they walk out of the flat and make their way to the street, Bronn assuring Theon all along that Westeros is like a big ocean, with thousands of lodgements all better than the other. They would find something for him. They just need time. Which Theon hasn’t seeing as he is lodging at his sister’s, and her boyfriend, Quarl the Maid. If Theon has to endure another all-nighter of them having disturbing sex, he’ll definitely lose his last few marbles. From the way his brother in law moaned some nights ago, Theon has the feeling that Quarl is not always the one on top. This tidbit of information perturbed Theon for that whole night. It also was the greatest motivator to urge Theon to find his own place. His therapist, Tyrion, totally confirmed that having his own space would be great for him. Theon couldn’t agree more. 

Tyrion was so glad of Theon accepting this change in his life, that he referred him to one of his greatest friend; the estate agent Bronn Stockeworth, who knows every good spot in Westeros. The wolfish man Bronn was confident he would find something for Theon in no time. After all, the man is good at finding sneaking in on the best spots seconds after they become available. And Theon is not picky on the area of the apartment, or the size of it or the style. He only wishes to find himself a nice flat, already furnished, in which he could live in for quite a while. Just the time to readjust himself and start things anew. 

Yet, over two dozen apartment visits later, Theon has still not found his haven. He has started losing faith a while ago, and so has Bronn. Even the most sensational flat Tyrion has seen for so small a price has not tempted Theon. That one was huge, the living room, dining room and kitchen organised in a big, open room with stairs leading to an upper level, on which the bedrooms and bathroom were located. The owner of the place had modern tastes, with fashioned furniture all in square-ish shapes and Mondrian colors. The look it all conferred was quite…empty.

“It seems like the perfect flat for raves.” He said for the sake of saying something. Really, he was not convinced that it was the kind of place for him. 

Bronn smiled with hope and nodded enthusiastically. “It’s definitely the place for a young dashing man who wants to have fun. Just imagine the look on your friends’ faces when you show them this boy haven!” He said with the confidence that he found at last what Theon has been searching. “You would be on a five minutes’ walk of all kind of bars and nightclubs, quite a convenience for a great nightlife!” He added with an enticing smile.

Theon has been even less persuaded then. His nights are sacred, for what little he could enjoy of them. There is no way in hell he’d compromise them with the proximity of loud nightclubs, youth partying and drunkards on high trashing around at unholy hours. 

God, 24 and he already thinks like an old man. How jaded he has sounded like even to his ears. He sat in the red, square couch and nearly fell on the floor when his back met only thin air instead of cushion, as his body’s instincts had expected. He avoided the fall only by grabbing at two other cushions and gripping them as if his life depended on it at the very last moment. From his awkward position, he had to lever himself up to look at Bronn, who had a frozen smile on his face.

“I guess it’s no for that one too, isn’t it?” The wolfish man said.

Theon didn’t feel the need to nod his ascent. 

As Theon reaches the sidewalk, Bronn on his heels, still talking about taking things from the beginning and focusing the search on what Theon really wants, Theon feels something crash lightly against his chest. He looks down and sees that it’s only a pink paper thrown at him by the wind. He picks it up and let it go back in the wind, not concerned one bit about what is written on it. As he watches it fly again, his eyes falls on the neighbourhood and for the first time since he’s there, he takes the time of enjoying the sight. The apartment buildings all look quite picturesque, with a lovely architecture reminding him peaceful towns in travels magazine. Trees and vegetation grows in perfect harmony with the buildings, sometimes alongside the façades, sometime over their bricks. This seems like a nice, cozy place for Theon.

“Maybe if we communicate more together, it would be easier to find something to your liking. Like, you could tell me more about your profession, or your family situation or your past.” Bronn suggests, hungry for Theon’s approbation. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Says Theon with only half of his attention on the dwarf, just as the pink paper manages to get stuck on his leg. He picks it up with annoyance. Will this damned thing leave him alone? He throws it again in the wind, watching it disappear up in the air.

“Okay. Well, maybe we should stop looking for a couple of weeks…” Keeps Bronn just has the damned pink paper manages to hit Theon straight on the face this time, blocking his view. 

He picks it up, not listening to the dark hair man anymore, and starts reading it. As the words sink in, he realises that it’s an ad for an apartment for rent straight in the building in front of him, the other side of the street. The word Sublet barely registers in as he admires the building. Tyrion completely forgotten, he crosses the street and reads the specific address of the apartment. It’s on the upper floor. As he hears questioning shouts of “Theon?” and “What is the matter?” coming from behind him, he tends the paper to the other man, still walking in the direction of the apartment. 

10 minutes and a phone call later, he steps in the apartment. A long and cozy wooden corridor faces him, cut down by well-designed threshold leading to the different rooms of the apartment. The bedroom, big and tastily furnished in mahogany, with a King size bed. The bathroom is slightly vintage, but in great tastes too. As Bronn continues further to enjoy the different rooms, Theon sees a set of stairs and climbs it. As he opens the door, the bright afternoon sky blinds him and it takes him a while to realise that he is on the rooftop. He walks around it, enjoying the sight of the cars and peoples from the bottom of the four stories building. An old set of two plastic chairs and a small table has been installed here so that the owner of the place could enjoy the sight. 

Theon is carefully testing the soil in some pots of plants when Tyrion arrives on the rooftop, exclaiming in delight and praising this exclusive rooftop. Theon doesn’t want to listen to any advertising of the estate agent. He just wants to enjoy the peace this whole place is conferring him and makes his own mind about it. He goes back inside without a word, descending to the living room without stopping at the nice kitchen and adjoining dinner room. He sees the living room, cozily furnished, with the light of the sun giving an eerie feeling of warmth. He is totally sold by the place when he sits on the couch, a perfect mix of softness and firmness, all in orange. He doesn’t know who’d buy an orange sofa of all colors, but it’s pretty cozy, and now that he looks at the living room, it is cozy overall.

“Well, there is a few places in the Lannister neighbourhood we’ve haven’t hit yet.” Bronn says as he enters the room, looking exhausted.

“This is a good couch.” Theon says half to himself, half to the smaller man. 

“It least it has a good couch.” The man sighs tiredly, half listening to Theon himself. 

“Yes. I like the couch.” Theon says with a smile, totally relaxing in it. He definitely wants to stay in longer.

“A good couch.” Bronn repeats with an incredulous smile. 

The next morning, Theon signs the papers of the sublet apartment, not caring one bit when Bronn explains him that it’s only a monthly rent, which is why the rent is so low. Theon doesn’t care. He has found the place where he’s sure he’ll find peace, at last. 

Or try to.

* * * * * 

The same evening, Theon is already settled in. Not that it took much to do so. It barely took him one hour to put his few things into three cartons and two bin bags, and Asha was kind enough to help him bring them to his new place thanks to her old Crown Victoria, Black Wind. He had finished unpacking after less time than it took to pack.

Really, it’s amazing how he feels cozy in this apartment. Not even a whole day has passed that the nice mahogany furniture’s and colorful accessories are already making him feel at home. Theon has a thought that he’d like to meet the owner to ask him help about his apartment when he’ll move out. But the thought of moving out makes him feel strange, and he brushes it aside. Right now he just wants to enjoy himself, and his newfound peace. He has even taken the liberty of letting the pizza box he has just ordered on the table, as well as his used up napkins and the half dozen cans of beer he has already emptied. For once nobody is there to get bothered by him taking his eases. Nobody is here to reprimand him for his mess or punish him for it.

An unopened can of beer in hand, he takes the remote and opens the TV, roaming through the different channels to find something to his tastes. Petyr Baelish is giving the latest news about a red meteor passing near enough them that they’ll be able to see it tonight. Zap. Varys Spiders is harboring a fake expression of utter shock as he gossip about the model Margaery Tyrell getting out of the closet. Zap. On channel 26 some white zombies with electric blue eyes are attacking what seem like Eskimos. Zap. On the next channel he watches a game of polo, the Dothraki team leading 2 to 0 against the Dragons. A certain Kahl Drogo is acclaimed by his team. Zap. A man with blond hair and a white plastic apron raises an electric saw over his head and starts cutting through a naked man bound to a table by saran wrap, great splatters of blood splashing against the camera. Zaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap.

What feels like an eternity later, Theon finds himself still grasping for breath, curled up on the sofa with his head on his knees and his arms wrapped around himself. His nose sniffs wetly as tears run down his cheeks, and he curses at himself for how much he’s messed up. Fortunately he has shut down the TV so as to not see any more of bloody Dexter. But damn it, it has reminded him so much of Wex, the deaf dog he had rescued from the streets what seems like a dozen lifetimes ago. He had taken care of it, and had totally adopted it as his mate. But then _He_ came in his life. Theon shudders as he remembers that famous night _He_ put an end to the poor dog. 

Theon forcefully slows down his breath, holding it and counting to ten at each intake and exhale of air. It takes another eternity, but he does manage to calm down, although he feels so drained at the end of it, that it’s a wonder he doesn’t faint on the spot. When finally his feet fall on the floor, he is surprised to hit something cold and hard. He looks down, and is surprised to find an unopened can of beer. He bends over to picks it up, and then opens it, thinking that this small piece of relief comes just in time. Two things happen at once. The first one is that he hasn’t thought about how bad an idea it is to pop open a can which has just been shaken. The second is that just as the can opens and starts splashing his chin, he looks up he sees a man standing over him, looking at him with piercing blue eyes.

Theon closes his eyes and screams in horror, not caring one bit that the can of beer is splashing bitter liquid all over his face and his favourite Mumfords and Sons T-shirt. Is _He_ there to get back at Theon? As he scrambles back on the couch in a pitiful attempt to protect himself, Theon hears an echo to his horrified scream. It takes him a ridiculous amount of time to figure things out, but it seems like he is not the only one to be screaming in horror. This notion urges him to open his eyes and look up at the other man. It’s only then that Theon realises that it’s not _him_ . And he stops screaming, though he’s still curled up in a protective way, totally freaked out. What the fuck is wrong with him? Not even a day alone in a new place and there’s already a guy creeping on him.

“There’s nothing to steal.” The other man says. 

He is taller than Theon, more in muscles and well built. He has pale, creamy skin, as well as striking blue eyes and red hairs. He is dressed in a casual pair of dark jeans, a white T-shirt with a grey wolf on it and a dark blue tartan shirt. He is looking at Theon with nearly as much fright than Theon. He is totally not bad looking.

“What?” It is the only thing Theon manages to say, his fuzzy mind still not making sense of all the information thrown at it. Who the hell is this guy, and what does he mean by there’s nothing to steal?

“There’s nothing worth stealing. No drugs. No money” The other man says with a tone of voice and appeasing gestures, his eyes wide open. As if it was him being freaked out by an intruder. 

“Hnnein… What? I’m not stealing anything” Theon says hesitantly. He feels so lost by the other man’s attitude that he is starting to feel dizzy. 

“Look, I’m sure there is a homeless center not far from here. I’m going to give you some money for a cab and some food, but please, don’t waste it on more alcohol.” The red hair man adds as if Theon hadn’t said anything. He turns around, and heads for the hall, as if searching something.

“I’m not homeless. I rent this place” Theon says, outraged. Seriously, who the hell is this bloody guy? And how the hell does he has the gall to presume that Theon is the kind to break into somebody’s place and rob it. Even when he was really homeless and desperate, years ago, he would have never broke into somebody’s place to rob it or squat in it. He actually did some other stuff he’s still ashamed off, but never has he broken into someone’s place. It is too shitty to do even for him.

The other man turns around at that comment. “What do you mean by you rent this place? It’s impossible! I rent it!” He says with a bewildered expression, looking as outraged as Theon must be doing. 

_Oh no! It cannot be happening!_ Theon thinks with despair. After all the shit which happened to him, please not THIS too! “We’ve been scammed. There’s like... five other persons who pay for the rent and have been given keys for the place.” He says in utter disbelief. This place, the perfect setting, the low price; it was all too good to be true. There had to be a catch.

“Yeah! And we all moved in with our stuff.” The red hair guy adds with sarcasm.

“Yeah!” Theon agrees moodily. Then the answer the other man has given him really hits home. “Wait! What?” He adds in even greater confusion. Could this get any more complicated?

“These are my stuff! This is my TV, MY couch, MY mahogany table…” As the red man is talking, he points to the different pieces of furniture to further his explanations. He stops when he looks at the table though, and looks totally outraged at the sight of it. He looks back at Theon with an accusatory glare. “Is this a ring? Have you never heard of a coaster? Or a trash bin for that matter? No matter who you are, you are SO cleaning this mess! I’m getting the mop and the bucket. “He rants angrily, just as he walks toward the kitchen. “It’s like I’ve moved in with a pig! A disgusting, messy pig!” He adds with annoyance.

Theon is totally taken aback by this outburst of this total stranger, who gets mad at him over a mess he was supposed to be the only one to see. Can’t he get a moment of total carelessness? Theon rises from the couch and jogs to the kitchen, not knowing what to think anymore. He feels even more lost when he realizes that the other man is totally not in the kitchen. Feeling dizzy by all the alcohol and the confusion, he walks through all the apartment, searching the mysterious stranger and calling “Hello?” once in a while. But the stranger remains unfound. 

Not losing one minute after it really hits home that the stranger is not here anymore, Theon wastes no time to rummage through his tools box to get his drill. In no time he has fixed another lock on the door. 

Feeling slightly less freaked out, he walks to his bathroom and take a long, hot, relaxing shower. Only when water starts getting cold Theon turns off the tapper and gets out. Maybe he has imagined all this mess. Alcohol sometimes has weird effects on him. He has never experienced something that weird though. Maybe a good night of sleep would help him, he thinks as he wraps a towel around his waist. Absentmindedly, he rubs his hand against the mirror to remove the condensation mist on it, and gasp in shock as he sees the stranger’s face looking at him with a glare. 

“I told you to get out!” The red hair man screams in anger. Theon turns around, but sees nothing. He peers again at the mirror, but nothing there too. _What the fuck is happening to him? Has he totally lost his mind?_ He thinks with despair. Maybe he is totally beyond fixing.

That night, even after another two cans of beer, sleep remains elusive for Theon. Each time he closes his eyes, he sees piercing blue eyes looking at him in anger. Theon feels so wrecked that he doesn’t distinguish anymore if it’s the stranger’s eyes, or _His_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just feel important to mention that although I showed Satin more on his whore side, I have a great respect for the character, and would never define him as just being overtly sexual!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

“Man, you look horrible. What’s wrong?” Tyrion asks with concern as Theon sits at their usual table at Hot Pie’s Bistro.

Although he looks older and more seasoned than Theon, Tyrion is barely five years older than him. This means he must be in his 30’s or something. Which is sometimes so easy to forget seeing as the man is a dwarf, barely reaching Theon’s chest. The man, often nicknamed The Imp because of his size, cannot be mistaken for anything else than a full grown man though, what with his confident, knowing smile and his witty mismatched eyes, one green and one black. That and his ways with women. It doesn’t come as a surprise that the man is of the lion family!

Theon wasn’t sure at first that the man could really help him after what happened with R… with _Him_. He had been so hopeless, so convinced that he could not be mended. Yet it was an obligation from the law court, and Asha had convinced him that rumors had it that the man was great at his work. So Theon went to him, dubious, but somewhat hopeful. It had been a surprise to see that the man was a dwarf; the first dwarf psychiatrist, and the best at his work.

With time, baby steps by baby steps, the smaller man got deeper and deeper through Theon’s thick shell, and helped him get better and better. Somewhat more like the man he had been before him, but with a better approach on life and a wiser attitude. He doesn’t know when they sort of became friends amidst all the talking and advising, but after a while, it sort of became a habit of theirs to go out and chat. Tyrion even tries to hook Theon up with potential great lover, but Theon somehow always balls out of it, not thinking himself fully ready to get involved again with anyone else. The last man should have been the perfect match. But Theon was so nauseous from anguish at the prospect of trying to be with someone that he made himself sick and had to cancel at the last minute. It still warms him up that the man keeps trying and doesn’t give up on him,

“I’m seeing someone.” Theon answers after a nice, long sip of cool ale. Already, he feels the beginning of a headache throb at his temples. Not because of the alcohol, which is his best relief since a couple of months. But because the single thought of what happened two nights ago still frightens him, and confuses him greatly. That night he had barely been able to find an hour or two of sleep between his fits of anguish. The following night was not much better. 

“Well! That’s great news!” Tyrion exclaims with a relieved smile on his face. He too, takes a long sip of his beer, as if to celebrate. 

“You think it’s good?” Theon says, feeling even more confused. It’s good that he’s seeing someone who might not be real? Did the world turn upside down since he moved in his new place?

“Well, of course it’s good! I’ve been telling you for ages that it’s part of moving on and getting your life back into your hands. I’ve even tried to hook you up, but last time I tried, you bailed on me! But the fact that you’ve initiated it on your own this time is sight of an even greater progress!” Tyrion says vehemently, totally glad at the prospect of Theon getting better. 

Seeing as it’s him who has been nursing Theon back up for the last two years, going with him through all what happened two years ago and even throughout his horrible childhood, Theon can understand that the prospect of getting past all of it relieves him. It would totally relieve Theon too if it was really happening to him. But the truth is actually way worse than that.

“So! Who is it? Do I know him?” Tyrion asks again with a big smile that makes Theon feel bad about the way what he’s going to say will wipe it off his face.

“Actually, he’s not really here.” He says hesitantly, not sure of how to say it. Somehow, after all the mad things he’s felt and confessed to his therapist, that one feels awfully too crazy to be said. Like the cheery on the top of the cake.

“What is it? He’s emotionally unavailable? Or you mean that you’ve met him online? You’re careful about that I hope? Online is not bad, but you’ve got to watch yourself for shady things. Trust me, I know” Tyrion says with a careful frown, seeming concerned about Theon’s wellbeing. And that more than anything makes Theon want to keep Tyrion as his friend. And it gives him the courage to confess the truth to him.

“He’s not here, like…he might not really be…real.” He stammers hesitantly, not sure about how to really say things without sounding good for the asylum.

Theon has to hand it to him. Tyrion does not even laugh or seem judge him. He looks at Theon, still with his thoughtful frown, and hesitates for only a mere second or two. 

“Like…a hallucination.” Tyrion asks with a great professionalism which doesn’t seem to diminish his genuine care for Theon. Theon could nearly hug him right now. He doesn’t feel like there’s anybody else with whom he could talk about that without feeling judged. 

“Yeah.” He manages to say with a thick voice. He looks down at the bottom of his now empty glass to give his eyes something to focus on other than Tyrion. When did he finish it? Hasn’t he just taken a sip or two of his pint? 

“Okay. For the sake of doing things right, be honest with me. Were you drunk when you saw your apparition?” He asks as he removes a small notepad and a pen from the pocket of his shirt and starts writing in it.

“No. I just had a small buzz” Theon says, too distracted by the sight of his empty pint to really take notice of what’s Tyrion is actually doing.

“Don’t lie to me, Theon. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth.” He adds with a reproved tone. 

“Okay! I was wasted! You’re glad to hear it?” He asks with exasperation in his voice, putting his empty pint back on the table. That’s when he notices that Tyrion is quickly scribbling notes on his paper. “Hey. Hey! Are you taking notes? I thought it was a friendly chat!” He exclaims with outrage. Friends are rare for Theon. That he has become friends with his therapist over the years feels great for him, but it kind of feels insulting if Tyrion remains more a therapist to him than a friend.

“Don’t be insulting. You’re with old friend Tyrion here. I’m doing it on my time, freely. If it would drag on two hours though, I’d have to charge you a friendly fee. I’m just kidding. Come on it’s just a joke.” He says with a smile on. For the sake of Theon’s feelings he puts away the notepad and the pen, a gesture Theon appreciated greatly.” So you were wasted when this hallucination happened?” He asks in a smoother tone, as if he’s trying to appease Theon. It works.

“Yes. But it was no reason to have this ginger control freak boss me around and treat me like a pig. I was watching TV with a stuck of pizza and beer junk. It was just that for once I was alone, and there was nobody to have concerns for, so I took some leisure.” He says with a voice he hopes doesn’t sound as pathetic as it does to his own ears. 

“I know, I know. There’s nothing wrong in taking some ease once in a while.” Tyrion says in a comforting tone. “Was he attractive?” He adds with a grin on.

Before thinking about his answer, Theon mutters a “yes”. It’s only after that he frowns in confusion. “What does it have to do with anything” He asks snappishly. 

“Nothing. Nothing! I’m just asking.” Tyrion tells him seriously.

“You know what! I think I’ll just stop alcohol altogether!” Theon exclaims with false confidence. One second later he already regrets it. It makes him feel horrible how dependant he’s become of the stuff. He doesn’t want to become like his father, an old, jaded drunkard whose only purpose in life his ruins other people’s life.

“No! Don’t stop alcohol. Drinking is good. It makes men brave, and women loose, or the opposite sometimes. But drink with other people. You see this?” And he makes gesture at the bistro, the people, and the street with his arms, as if he was trying to grasp it all. “This is the world. Come join it! Don’t just drink alone with your own mind. There’s no good in that! You’re not equipped to dig alone in that mess.” Tyrion explains with a concerned voice. “Dude. It’s been two years. You need to move on.”

Theon nods at that.

* * * * * 

Theon still nods to himself as he opens himself a can of beer.

He’s sitting, all cozy on the couch, a whitish afghan with a grey wolf draped around his shoulders. Really, the previous owner has great tastes. The material his warm, plushy and has total rendered Theon addicted to it. For the last hour or so after his return home from the bistro with Tyrion, Theon has been watching TV while sipping one…3 beers. He’s really feeling nice now, all curled up on the couch under the nice afghan, eyes heavy in front of religious propaganda about the great god R’hllor or Rlor or however the bloody name is pronounced. Whatever is the name, Theon thinks that it’s just a great load of horseshit! Yet, from time to time he watches the remote far away on the table in front of the couch, and cannot muster the energy to grab it and change channels. 

He must have dozed off, because next thing he sees as he opens his eyes is a woman giving birth to an all grown man. Or no. It’s not a man. It’s a shadow. The thing gives such strong creeps to Theon that he’s totally awake and tensed away the next second after he has noticed it. What the fuck is this thing. He doesn’t bother waiting for more details or further explanation for this monster. He simply grabs the remote and switches the TV off. Maybe he’d be better to sleep in the bed. There’s be less traumatising sights there than in front of the TV. 

After a nice, hot shower, and making sure there was no peeping from the hallucination, Theon slips between the blissed sheets, savoring their delicate softness on his exhausted body. Goddamned it, he totally loves that bed. Damn, he ought to get one like that in his own place. He’ll have to remember to get in touch with the owner of this place so as to get the same one for himself.

“My, my! You’re still here?” Says a voice Theon has hoped to never hear again. He startles in the bed in surprise, opening his eyes to see blue ones glaring at him from above him. Casually leaning against the threshold, the red hair man looks at Theon with an half confused, half annoyed frown. Is it Theon, or the young man is wearing the exact same clothes as last time? “I’m sure I told you to get out!” He says loudly, clearly irritated to find Theon in his bed. At least Theon has an old T-shirt and a pyjama on. It might be just an alcohol induced vision, yet he doesn’t want it to see his body with no clothes on.

“You’re not real.” Theon says, closing his eyes then opening them again in hope that the childish motion would make the vision vanish. Of course, he should know his luck better. He wouldn’t be plagued by the mysterious red hair man if not because he is totally unlucky. “You’re just a vision. Go away!” He adds hesitantly, still searching for a way to make the stranger leave him alone.

“Oh my! It seems like things are worse than I first though.” The red hair man sighs to himself. The next instant he’s pushing himself away from the threshold, walking slowly but with confidence toward the bed, thus toward Theon. “I’m going to ask you a series of question now. For your own good, I suggest that you answer them with the utmost honesty.” It’s funny how he sounds like Tyrion right now. “First, has your consumption of alcohol increased recently?” Yes, definitely similar, now that alcohol is mentioned. 

“Yes” Theon answers, out of habit. More than anything, there’s something in the man’s smooth tone, his way of talking as if he’s genuinely concerned about Theon’s wellbeing that feels like he’s talking back with Tyrion. 

“And are you hearing voices or seeing things which might seem quite not real?” The mysterious man asks while sitting on the bottom of the bed, near Theon’s feet. Is it him or the mattress doesn’t seem affected by the weight of the muscular guy? 

“Actually, yes.” Theon answers, his poor, fuzzy mind lost in some gibberish explanations as to the why and the how of his weird vision.

“Then have you sought the help of a specialist of mental health care professional?” The red hair man further asks in his smooth tone. 

“What? How do you know that? Stay away from me!” Theon says, now totally freaked out. Does the man know about him meeting with Tyrion? Does that mean that even when Theon can’t see the mysterious man, this one can see him? A whole new realm of questions surfaces in his mind at the thought of the man always being in Theon’s vicinity. Uneasy questions which make Theon blush. 

“Do you have paranoia or the feeling that people want to harm you?” The stranger man keeps asking to Theon, still with this way of talking and looking at Theon which lulls him into wanting to open up to the man. 

“What do you want? Who are you and why do you keep asking all these questions?” Theon says as he crawls back on the bed and clutches a pillow over him in a semblance of shield against the red hair man. 

“I take this as a Yes! Okay, let me put it simply: You have fantasized, quite convincingly, that you’ve rented an apartment that actually belongs to someone else.” The young man explains to Theon in a tone similar to one used by teachers who want to explain things to young children. Or the one that therapist use on particularly dull patients. “Pick up that pillow.” He says next to Theon, indicating which one with a motion of his chin. Theon feels so lost by everything that he doesn’t understand at first. “Pick it up! It’s okay. There’s a small red stain on the back where I dropped some cherry cough syrup.” 

Theon picks it over and realises that there is indeed a red stain on the back. “I hope you learnt to stick to the pills.” He croaks in a joke with a really pale imitation of his old smile. 

The other man’s eyes widen in shock at that, and then he snorts with a small smile. ”I actually do now, thanks.” He answers with a small smile which makes something flutter in Theon’s chest. He hopes he’s not about to belch. The red hair man shakes his head as if trying to wake himself up. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re in my flat when you shouldn’t. These are all my stuffs. This is MY pillows. These are MY sheets from Nordstrom. I can even tell you that I keep the receipt for them in MY bed table. This is MY picture…Where is my picture? The picture of my…my picture?”

Theon looks over at where the vision man is looking, and winces as he sees three other cans of beer laying there, no coaster in sight. Fortunately, the absence of said picture seems to be the only thing the red hair man can focus on. “There was no picture there when I came.” Theon says, trying to alleviate the guilt he has in the other man’s eyes. But the man barely listens to him.

“I’m sure there was a picture here… Okay, whoever you are, you get out of my apartment.” The apparition says, finally looking at Theon, with something akin to rage in the eye. “I’m calling the police!” And with that, the vision turns over and run to the phone on the small table near the door, grasping it angrily. Or trying so.

Theon doesn’t know what to feel anymore when he sees the hand of the vision man pass through the phone as if it was not real. A couple of other tries at grasping the phone only confirm for the both of them that there’s something really wrong with the other man.

“What did you do to my phone?” The red hair man asks with shock on his face, looking at Theon with accusation in his glare. As if Theon has tampered with the machine so that it became immaterial. 

“Nothing.” He answers hesitantly, too tired and shocked to try to find the most diplomatic way to explain to the apparition that there is nothing wrong in the apartment other than the red hair man himself. 

The man looks at the phone with hesitation, clearly not knowing what to do. “I…I’ll take the one in the kitchen,” He finally says as he walks toward the kitchen and disappear. Like, he actually fades away right under Theon’s eyes. He shakes his head, and then looks at the beer corpses over the small table near his bed. He doesn’t know any more if he’d be better with or without the stuff. A headache throbbing against his temples, his lids stinging with tiredness, Theon simply lets himself fall back on the bed and slip through blissed unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 

“Are you sure nobody died there?” Theon asks grumpily. 

After his visit of the red hair man vision, and hours of anguished restlessness, Theon slept deeply, but has woken up with a headache and a heavy hangover. As he does each such morning, he swears to himself to never drink the damn poison again, seeing how it makes him feel broken and totally drained the next morning. Of course, it’s empty promises, and he knows it well. Nonetheless, he regrets how his hangover makes his temples throb with pain and how his whole body protests against him rising up. Yet the need to learn more about his hallucination is stronger than his want for more sleep. So he has risen from the bed, and away from the heavenly sheets, then Theon has taken a long, nice …cold shower to properly wake himself. His double cup of coffee has finished the job. Theon is now totally awake, although the side effects of his heavy alcohol consumption make him crave for the day to already be over. 

The first thing he does in order to satisfy his curiosity about the stranger man is to call Bronn Stockeworth, his estate councillor. Maybe he could tell Theon if something major has happened to a red hair young man. 

“I’m sure of it. I’ve asked, thought the young woman in charge of the apartment has seemed uneasy about the situation. It seems like there is actually a family drama about the owner of the place, but no death has ever happened in the place.” He says with a confident tone. “What is it? You’ve watched one episode too many of Old Nan’s Old Tales? You know its total crap what happens in this emission, right?” The wolfish man says with a small laugh on the other side of the side of the phone. 

Theon doesn’t know what else do other than puff out a small laugh. Of course he has watched some episodes of Old Nan’s Old Tales from time to time. The emission is even older than him. And the weirdest things could happen in them, from tales from centuries earlier when seasons could each last years and Westeros was divided in the great seven families, to tales of dragons or of God’s three and weir woods. 

“No, it’s nothing so crazy.” He finally answers, unsure of how not so crazy his vision actually is. “I was just wondering. But can you tell me more about the family drama and the owner?” He adds with more confidence. 

“I’m sorry, but the family is really closed lips. I couldn’t find more than what I just told you. With any luck, whoever the owner is, he’s dead and you’ll have the apartment at a low price.” The man says in a casual tone, as if he isn’t talking about someone’s life.

“What?” Theon says in shock. Right now he’s less taken aback by the comment Bronn has just made that by the fact that more than five years ago, his old self would have nodded in indifference at the man’s statement.

“Come on, Theon. We’re between adults. This apartment is nice, in a quite decent place with an excellent view. There is a fireplace and an exclusive rooftop. People would kill their own father for less, trust me I know!”

Theon doesn’t know what to say to that comment. He sure hates his own father, even wishing him dead. But would he kill Balon Greyjoy only for the sake of having a nice lodgement. 

He does not even want to try to answer that one. 

He mutters some politeness to Bronn and ends the call.

* * * * 

Theon frowns doubtfully as he looks at the shop in front of him. Its old wooden structure stands out aside the other, nice-looking shops which all seem to be fresh out of a picturesque magazine. This one has a big sign with a big wall of ice clashing against the night sky, on which is written On the Other Side of the Wall: Occult and Metaphysical Bookstore. At the point where Theon is, he’s got nothing to lose anything in entering it and trying to find some explanations. He sighs, then steps toward the place and opens the door to enter it.

He is quite impressed at the sight of so many books in one single place, hundreds of them pilled in what seems like an unorthodox chaos. Still, he follows some signs on the shelves, passing through the sci-fi section and the Lore to get to the Beyond the Wall section, which seems to be about the afterlife. 

He has barely had the time to read the cover of one book, which seems to be about a certain Cregor Clegane, great footballer, and his tales of “The not quite Death”, when he feels a presence behind him. He turns over and sees a young man with dark blond hairs, and eyes of an impressive deep green. He looks quite young, as if he barely reached adolescence, yet his eyes are filled with so much gravity and matureness that it’s hard to mistake him for an adolescent. Slim and a head shorter than Theon, there’s something quite eyrie emanating from the young man.

“May I help you?” He says while looking at the book Theon is holding. Theon has barely the time to read the man’s tag, on which is written Jojen - what a weird name! - before said man moves his arm in front of Theon and grabs a book on the shelf just below the one on which Theon has picked his book. “That one is a piece of rambles. You should try the one Beric Dondarrion has written, it’s way more realistic!” He says to Theon with a helpful smile. 

“Do you believe in this stuff?” Theon asks out of curiosity. He’s not sure he should have ask that seeing the way Jojen looks uneasily at his feet, clearly not knowing what to say. Theon hopes he’s not searching a lie to cover what looks like such a big scam. 

“Well, no, you don’t believe in it. Until you actually do.” He says in a cryptic way, although he doesn’t seem to be trying to lie. He seems to hesitate some moments, before he looks at Theon again in a resolute way. “I didn’t believe in… some things before. But I’ve seen things… I can’t say more. Sorry guy. But I believe in this stuff.” He adds in a more than grave way. Theon is not sure he wants to push further.

Jojen looks up after a mere moment of uneasiness, then rubs his hands together while smiling enthusiastically. “So, what is it? Is it an encounter, or some ectoplasm? Or a dead warg? Not a White Walker I hope!” He asks to Theon as if he himself is an expert of the matter. “I have some great book about communicating with presences…” He says, starting to search said book on the shelves below.

“Hmm, communicating is not a problem with him.” Theon answers Jojen.

“Ahh, I see!” Jojen answers with a knowing glance. “Then I have exactly what you need.” And he proceeds to pile Theon’s arms with books of all size.

* * * * 

That evening, Theon sits on the windowsill of the living room, enjoying the way the French window is large enough to accommodate both him and his big pile of books. Seriously, when Jojen gave him a pile of books, each more interesting and pertinent than the previous one, he didn’t do it halfway. Theon came home with a pile of books so high that he has barely been able to walk back home with it, his hands extended as low as they could get while the highest book was tucked under his chin to maintain some form of balance. And that’s without taking into account the price Theon paid for these. Jojen assured him that such a treasure of books was priceless. The 20% discount he friendly applied on the bill as a welcoming gift helped though.

Since his return back home, Theon has perused through the two dozens of books, alternating between cans of beer and mugs of coffee to both keep calm, yet alert. With barely some crackers and chips down his stomach, Theon has seen the afternoon sky turn orange, then pink an now indigo, indicating that it is now well into the evening. Among the empty mugs and cans of beverage, Theon has stacked his books in four piles: The irrelevant one, the one he’s unsure about, the one which seems interesting, and the one he hasn’t studied yet, which becomes increasingly shorter with time. His last mug of tepid coffee in hand, he sees an interesting passage in the actual book he’s reading now, mentioning an incantation to invite a ghost to join him and then to free it into the other world. He assumes he has nothing to lose at trying it. 

So Theon, trades his mug of coffee for a candle and, unsure, starts talking, his eyes alternating between reading the lines in the book and looking up around it. He also tries to mimic the grotesque hand gestures with the hand holding the candle.

“Spirit, awake,  
Spirit, partake,   
Spirit, without fear,  
Spirit, appear.”

Theon looks around, hoping foolishly that something will happen, or that his vision is not actually secretly laughing at his prancing He sighs as he notices that he’s still alone, looking like a total nut case. He looks down with despair, peering at the books to see if one stands out as being more pertinent. He finds something which gives him an idea, but it isn’t a book. It’s his latest mug of coffee, sitting on the table with a ring of spilled liquid around it. The napkin under it is preventing the table from getting dirty. Not for long though. Damn, the vision will totally not be happy. He picks it up, then bellows loudly.

“Okay, vision, ghost or whatever. I’m comfortably sitting on YOUR chair, in front of YOUR table with a mug of coffee. It’s dripping of hot, dirty liquid. I’m going to put it on this wonderful, mahogany table with absolutely NO coaster…

“Please don’t!” Says the voice he doesn’t know any more if he hopes to hear or not. 

Theon turns his head in its direction, not astonished to see the tall red hair man standing nearby. He is a tad bit shocked when he sees the vulnerable look said man arbours at the sight of him deposing his mug of coffee on the table. As if he is looking, powerless, at an offender harming his most precious possession. 

Feeling guilty right away about his threat on the young man, Theon grabs a coaster from cabinet nearby, and then puts it under his mug before putting it on the table. At the way the other man follows with eyes full of concern Theon’s every moves, you would think Theon was a giant, ugly org threatening to destroy all his possession or something like that. The vision even sighs in relief when no further damage to his mahogany table is done.

Theon takes a great intake of air as he prepares himself to talk to the man. He has a feeling it won’t be an easy discussion. “We…we need to talk.” He manages to say once he exhales, feeling relieved that his voice remained confident, even to his own ears. 

“About what?” The man asks, seemingly lost, his eyes now on Theon.

It really won’t be easy he thinks as the blue eyes of the red hair man seem to pierce him to his soul, making him feel vulnerable. Yet, it has to be done. “Don’t you think that there must be something off about the way you spend your days?” He asks hesitantly, not wanting to hurt the young man with the blue, lovely eyes.

“Well, now that you’re talking about it, I think I might have a small problem with a certain squatter in my apartment.” The red hair man says with an annoyed tone.

“I was not talking about that.” Theon groans, irritated. “I meant…You know what, why don’t we start from the beginning? Hi, I’m Theon Greyjoy, glad to meet you. You are?”  
He asks politely, extending his right hand in a welcoming gesture, and then clasping both his arms nervously when he realises that the man cannot touch him. 

“Theon” The red hair man says, eyes squinted as if he is trying to figure out something.

He doesn’t miss the hesitation in the young man’s blue eyes as he looks at Theon, then at the ceiling as if he is trying to remember something. The hesitation becomes awkwardly long as the vision’s eyes search frenetically around the home, confused. Theon is baffled. The control freak who cannot even bear the thought of one dent on his precious furniture cannot even remember his name. Some people have a weird sense of priority.

“Hnng, I think…” The vision man starts to say, then his eyes fall on the mug of coffee Theon was holding not one minute ago. His eyes widen in recognition. “My name his Rob…in. Robin!” He says with confidence, standing proudly as if he has given the good answer to a questioning in class. 

Theon looks down at said mug, then back at the young man, then back again at the mug. It must be a joke. 

On the blue ceramic mug a name is written in red, fat letters. Theon didn’t think much of it when he picked that one, with on it the name ROB followed by a big fat heart just besides the letters. It looked like it is written by a child, and Theon wouldn’t be surprised if he learns it actually is. Somehow, among all the other more adult and proper mugs, it felt more right to take that one. 

“Okay, Rob…in. Screw that, let’s just call you Robb. What kind of freak parents would call their child Robin anyway?” He says after a small hesitation.

“Yeah, let’s go with Robb!” The other man exclaims right away, looking somewhat relieved.

“Anyway, I was wondering, do you remember when was the last time you talked to anybody else than me?”

Theon asks, rising from his seat by the window. Maybe this is his chance to fully understand. If he could just touch the apparition, it would sure validate that he is not real. That Theon is not mad. Or whatever. 

Just as he makes a step toward the apparition, who is now looking sideway as if trying to remember something, Robb steps back. 

“I… I talked to…someone… just the other day.” He tries hesitantly, still stepping back as Theon approaches from him. Hell, does the ginger freak has some kind of sixth sense about Theon’s intention or he’s touch scared? Theon would certainly not judge him on that last one, although he’d feel it as quite the irony.

“Really? Who was it?” 

Theon asks, quite sure that the other man would not be able to answer this question. He makes another step forward, only to see the other one step back again, appearing to not even realise it himself. Hell, this makes Theon feel sick, as if he’s playing some freak game where he is a predator, and the red hair man the prey. He could sick throw up because of how wrong it makes him feel.

“Euh…” 

Is his only answer. The so called Robb still looks down, wracking his mind it seems. 

“Or you could answer another question! Like what you do of your days when you’re not with me?”

It cannot be worst that what Theon did of his days when _He_ wasn’t there. When all he had to do was wait for _Him_. Hell, sometimes it feels like he had totally stopped to exist when _He_ wasn’t there. It sure felt like it at the time. 

Theon is brought back to the present when he hears another hesitant “Euh…” in answer to his question. Another step forward for him, another step backward for the other man, and they are leaving the living room to get into the dining one.

“I sure do more of my days than a certain someone here! Not that it has ever been hard to beat such a vegetable.” The apparition says defensively, suddenly more aggressive. He looks at Theon furiously, meeting glare for glare. Theon has nothing to explain to this privacy invader.

“Says the Ginger!” Theon snorts back

“Ginger is a root you dumbass!” the red hair man says with condescendence, most probably used to feeling superior to everyone around him. “And how old are you to make fun of someone for their hair color?”

“Let’s not stray from the point!” Theon says through grit teeth. Hell, this discussion is totally not going the way he planned.

“What point? The one where you’re not just glad to invade my home, you also have to harass me with personal questions? I bet next you’re going to ask about my sexuality!” 

The so called Robb groans furiously, still glaring at Theon.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t know what it is even if it’d bite you in the ass!” 

Theon says, stepping forward aggressively. Gosh, he cannot remember when was the last time he felt this angry. The man sure as hell know how to bring out these forgotten emotions. Later he will sure regret these despicable words. It’s not him to say such a thing, not after what has happened to him. But right now it feels too good to finally let out some steam.

The ginger hair man steps back with a gasp, his mouth stretched in an outrage “o”. Hmm, that mouth! Not the point!

“Don’t you remember anything dramatic happening to you?” 

Theon asks in frustration. He feels quite nauseous all of a sudden. It takes him a few lost moments to realise that barely eating a few crackers while filling yourself with unhealthy amounts of beer and coffee can have this undesired effect. 

“Like what? You entering my life?” 

Robb asks as he steps back again, letting out how frustrated he too is from this unnerving discussion.

“Like you dying!” 

Theon feels so wounded up from the heated discussion that he cannot manage to thread carefully any longer. If the man is a ghost, well, better accept it now rather than later! 

“I’m not dead!” Robb says as if it was the most ridiculous notion he has heard. 

“Come on mate, there should be a light. A big, blinding white light! Even you cannot miss that one!” Theon yells impatiently, still taking a step forward.

“There is no light you moron!” Robb says as he steps back again.

“Come on, just walk toward it! Feel it embrace you! Go with it!” Theon groans with impatience. 

Another step.

“There is no bloody light! I’m not dead! I’M NOT DEAD! How many times must I tell you this before it gets in your alcohol-addled brain cells?” Robb roars angrily, fist clenched knuckled-white as he glares furiously at Theon. Hell, his piercing blue eyes get so cold that it’s a wonder the man is not making Theon freeze on the spot. He must be quite mad to think that the guy is still hot as hell with the mix of his exceptional blue eyes, and his fiery red hairs. Like some kind of fiery King of the North from the stories of Old Nan’s Old tales.

He’s still so totally messed up it seems.

Theon looks down, only to feel his eyes widen at the sight of the man’s hips. Hell! He knew it!

Robb must have seen something in Theon’s eyes, because the next moment he’s looking down at himself, then back at Theon with horrified eyes. Of course, looking down at oneself while the bottom of your body is out of sight under the table you’ve got through can be quite a sight. Not that Theon ever experienced that one. Still, he has his share of madness, and of course he can think of worse than walking through a table and watching for the vanished limbs.

“What’s happening to me?” Robb says, voice shaking from the horror of it all. 

“You’re DEAD!” Theon snaps in the loudest voice he has heard himself use in years.

“Stop saying that!” 

The ghost yells as he takes a swing at Theon, clearly intending to push him back. But forgetting that him being immaterial makes it impossible. Yet, the sudden rush of chilling air as he passes through Theon, then catches himself and steps back again nearly makes Theon sick up. _What the hell!_ He has felt loads of weird things, either from drugs that from his time with _Him._ Yet the experience sure makes the top of the list of his weird experiences.

Robb seems surprised for only a few seconds that his attack hasn’t worked. Next thing Theon knows, the apparition his attacking again, giving multiple immaterial jabs through his head. Theon still hasn’t gotten fully back from his emotions after the initial attack, that he feels his head being hit by the same chilly rush again, and in multiple successions. He tries to dodge some out of habit, but most of them still get to his head, and chills his brain.

“Missed!” 

He jokes, if only to unnerve the ghost man. But rather than react to the joke by stopping, the ginger apparition seems to get more determinated to make Theon suffer by poking it’s hand through Theon’s head. 

“Stop it! No! Stop it, you’re giving me a headache!”

He says in a complain. Hell, he nearly regrets all the alcohol he has taken!

It’s his turn to back off, stepping back as the apparition still moves on him and lets his frustration out on Theon.

“Serves you right for saying I’m dead! What is it, you don’t like when tables are turned around against you?” The apparition states, furious. And stills, he continues jabbing his hand in Theon, making them walk back the way Theon has done minutes before. 

“Come on, I’m just trying to help you! Certainly you can do better that stalk me in my new flat!” Theon says as he tries to avoid a new lash of the chilly immaterial hand.

“YOU get out of MY flat!” 

The apparition yells with great annoyance as he lunges himself at Theon a last time. Of course, because of his immateriality, the red hair young man only passes through Theon, and seeing as he’s been backed down to the window, the apparition pass through it and falls down the building with a great scream of surprise.

Theon remains surprised himself for a small moment. Then the realisation hits home that the ghost is finally gone from his nice, heavenly new flat. At last he can rest in piece from the ginger invader who keeps bossing at him ever since they met. Something heavy settles in Theon’s chest at the perspective that the man is now totally gone. Yet Theon refuses to let himself be abate over it.

“Rest in peace” He says, if only to lighten up his spirits with a small joke.

Then he turns around, and has to strangle down a string of well-felt curses.

“I’m not leaving!” The ginger says while glaring at Theon menacingly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> Thank you all for the great support and those awesome comments!  
> I'm so sorry for the awfully long waiting! But here I am, back to continuing this story! I hope it will be good enough for you to forgive my long break!  
> I've also changed a small something in the tags, just in case some people were expecting something coming from one pairing. You see, I've noticed a few weeks ago while brushing through the Roose/Theon tag that my fic was in that list. I couldn't get why until I noticed that I had written Roose rather than Ramsay. It should be obvious anyway, but just in case!  
> There's also a good new coming! I have some advance in the next few chapters, which means that I might be able to post weekly or nearly so for a while. I don't want to raise your hopes too much, I don'T know how long I'll manage to keep a steady pace. But at least the updates should now come in less than half a year away!

**CHAPTER 5**

Less than 24 hours later, a blushing Theon finds himself yet again on the nice benches of the windowsill, the yellow pages on his knees and a phone in hands. He feels stupid, yelling like a madman in the phone to cover Robb’s loud singing of _Ghost Buster’s_ theme song. At least, the other man on the phone is nice enough to sound professional as he politely asks Theon what kind of hallu… ghost is visiting him right now. They do set themselves a meeting for the next day, in the beginning of the afternoon. Theon can only pray that it will be enough.

He glares at the red hair annoyance when at last the other man hangs up with a hesitant 

“Have… hmm… a good evening… I hope”

Of course, Theon himself would have trouble not thinking himself a lunatic if he had been on the other end of the phone. It’s a wonder the man accepted to meet with him rather than to refer him to some great mental care center. Theon would have done as much had he been in the other man’s place.

And of course, it’s only now that the phone call is over that Robb decides to stop singing. What a blessing! Thanks god for his small attentions. 

“So, what will it be? Exorcism? Please, tell me it’s going to be an exorcism!” Robb asks with too much enthusiasm for someone who’s going to be chased out of this otherwise heavenly apartment. But of course, it amuses him to see the length through which Theon is ready to go to get rid of him. 

Theon ignores the ghost, not wanting to enter in his games and get caught in this trap. If he ignores the ghost, he may get fed up of talking alone, and shut up at some point. It’s a bold dare, and a quite naïve hope, but Theon is left with nothing else. He walks steadily to the fridge, shaking from rage and exhaustion both. This time he barely startles when he opens the door to it and see Robb, comfortably sitting in there while looking up at him, his head poking from the upper shelf. The first time he pulled that trick on Theon, Theon jumped two feet in the air and dropped his bowl of cereal, which also happened to be one of Robb’s favourite bowl. He discovered that from the well-felt complain he received for a whole five minutes, before he shut the man up with a “Serve you well for scaring people out with your fridge trick.

No, this time Theon doesn’t startle. He just grabs his last beer from the fridge – hell, has he already gone through the whole twelve pack?

“Another one! Oh my my, what a surprise!” Robb states with a raised brow. “You know, I’m starting to wonder how you manage to drink all that! Seriously, I’m sure there’s more alcohol than blood in your blood!” He adds in Theon’s back as Theon turns around 

Theon just walks away, downing the bitter liquid before heading to bed. He hopes there’s enough alcohol in his system by now that he’ll be able to sleep this night.

Last night has been hellish, what with Robb singing all kinds of annoying, childish sounds from the top of his lungs. All. Fucking. Night. Oh, Theon did try to convince the ginger ghost that it was quite childish. He had even joked to him that he was old enough by now to not need a mother to sing him to sleep. But the ghost had huffed a laugh, before answering that he was no mother, and he would make sure Theon would NOT fall asleep.

At first Theon had thought the guy would have enough of his singing and would shut up from exhaustion. But he amazed Theon if only because he went for hours without showing even the slightest sign that he could feel exhaustion. Theon would have argued that he should stop if only to not disturb the neighbourhood’s sleep. But to his greatest chagrin, he seemed to be the only one to hear the ghost.

He must have fallen asleep near dawn, when Robb simply got fed up of signing, or went through his whole registry of annoying songs, or felt that it would be ironic to have Theon awake the whole night. Actually, maybe Theon has fallen asleep through the signing, like a child to a lullaby. But he dismisses that notion from his brain. As if the ginger ghost could sign well enough to make children fall asleep, instead of crying in irritation. Still!

Weirdly enough, for the few hours of sleep Theon did manage to get, he had no nightmares. Which was a first since _Him_ . Maybe the gods were sympathetic enough to not plague him with two banes in the same time. One at a time is already more than Theon could endure!

His day was screwed from the moment he woke up. First of all, it was noon. Which tend to upset his whole system seeing as he’s more of a morning person. Theon awoke feeling shaky, and even slightly nauseous. His head was totally killing him. He would never, NEVER, EVER drink so much alcohol again. And that time, it was true! 

He had a startle when he went to pass the door to his bedroom, only to see Robb standing just beside him, a smug smile plastered on his face, arms crossed over his chest. Of course, the ginger would be smug to have screwed Theon’s night and morning.

Theon found soon enough that there was another reason for that. Because screwing his precious night of sleep was not enough. No! The ghost had to screw his morning shower too. This relieving moment when Theon would celebrate the birth of a new day, and enjoy the fact that he was still there, working well enough toward his happy ending. Alone. With only himself. 

Theon had been surprised to see Robb follow him in the bathroom. Like he had totally froze on the spot for a good minute when he had seen Robb walking through the closed door and peering at Theon as he had both hand at the hem of his shirt, shower running already hot behind him. It had been obvious what he had been about to do. Yet Robb simply walked to the loo, sat on it and watched Theon expectantly.

In the end, Theon took his shower in his boxers and tee-shirt, not wanting the ghost to tease him about his marred body, yet unable to just skip the shower altogether. If there was one thing he would never do in his whole life, it would be to go a day without showering. How he managed to shed the soaking wet garments and trade it with dry ones without the ghost seeing more of his skin Theon could not even recall.

After that, it was just more annoyance over other annoyances. Such as the accident with the broken cereal bowl because Robb startled Theon with his hiding in-the-fridge trick. Or ranting over all kinds of uninteresting gossip when Theon picked the newspaper to distract himself. Or when Robb decided to sit in front of the TV to block Theon’s view, and just started singing all over again. 

Theon had to flee the apartment if only to preserve the little sanity he still had left. He walked for hours through town, not knowing what to do, not wanting to do anything. Just so as to not have the annoying ghost on his heels, blabbering and singing and being all irritating.

He ended up coming back with a twelve pack of booze, liquid courage to affront his ghost.

He gulped most of it in front of the tv, not caring one bit that Robb was laying on the table, glaring at him as he started singing again. And then grabbed the Yellow pages when he felt that either he would find the fastest way to get rid of the ghost, or he would end himself!

He doesn’t know if it’s because of all the alcohol, or the prospect that tomorrow the damned ghost will be over. It certainly cannot be because there might even be the _slightest_ chance that there somehow is something comforting about having somebody watching him that is not _Him_ . Thing is that, that night, Theon finally sleep the whole night. Peacefully as never since a long while. 

_ _ _ _ _

“I’ve got him Lil’ Walder!”

Says a young, fox-face lad with his face still covered in boils even though he must be about 3 years younger than Theon, like 21 or so. 

He’s got some kind of trinket shaped to match the famous Twin Towers which once belonged to the Frey domain, before being converted to the Walt Street Center by one of their ancestors. Of course, he placed it over a piece of paper, as if he has trapped an insect inside the trinket after having “played” with the vacuum all around the flat for the last hour. Theon cannot think of what has happened in the last hour as anything else but playing. 

“Well, I hand it to them, they’ve got some nice toys to play with! I can’t figure how they possibly can trap me in their Twin Towers evil trap but, Hey, men can dream!”

Theon has passed such a point of exasperation that he does not even try to find a funny quip to retort to the ginger hair ghost. He doesn’t even try to imply to the two so called Ghost hunters that his ghost is standing a mere two feet from him, laughing gleefully at their pitiful show of poor professionalism.

“Perfect Big! Go get rid of him in the loo, will ya!”

The bigger and stockier one of them says to the smaller one. From what Theon gathered about them both, they’re both called Walder Frey, so named after the worst womaniser ever, Walder Frey. The man seems to have taken some inspiration from the Pharaoh Ramses, who it seems had sired more than 150 children. The record for the old Walder Frey is still blurry, but from what Theon has heard, the old libidinous man shouldn’t be too far behind. And of course, surely to attract the attention of the rich old crook, nearly every mother who gave birth to one of his child name them after their father. Hence the great number of Walder and Walda walking around. 

Although Big Walder is actually smaller than Little Walder, the fact that he is older than him makes him the one nicknamed Big Walder, while the taller one remains Little Walder. Somehow this story only makes them look even more of a joke to Theon.

“See Mister! You can rest better now! We’ve got your ghost clear and off your back!” 

He says with such a hopeful smile, unaware of the loud snort emitted behind Theon’s said back as Robb watches Big Walder dispose of his remains in the loo. The loud flush of the toilet only makes the whole scene look more like an awful joke than anything else. 

“So, where’s our money?” Little Walder asks with the trademark greed in his eyes which has made the reputation of the Freys.

Theon fishes through his wallet for said money, not trusting himself to open his mouth without regretting what would get out of it. If the Walders notice that no tip has been added to their more than generous fees, they don’t say anything. They look somewhat insulted, but by now, Theon gives no shit about that! 

“Oh gosh, this was so priceless!” Robb exclaims between two laughs once the two lads are gone. “I can’t wait to see the next one!” 

_ _ _ _ _

The next one so happens to be the fattest priest Theon has ever seen. He doesn’t know his name, seeing as the man has become High Septon of Westeros. When Theon talked about his situation to some religious organisation at his nearest church, the Septons there seemed highly concerned with the idea of a soul trapped in this world, disturbing the balance of the universe as it still hasn’t made its way to the Seven. He has been surprised to see that the Septons were so vehement to have it gone to its right world that they not just booked a meeting the same afternoon. He doesn’t know what to say at the fact that they even went as far as to send the High Septon, the leader of their organisation. He can only think that the organization must either be dying, and thus desperate to do anything to gain new believers, or just be a tad bit too much dedicated. 

He sure would not complain though. The sooner he can get his flat all to himself, and be rid of his ghost invader, the happier he’ll be. It worries him how fast he’s getting used to falling asleep to having a certain hot...annoying ginger hair ghost singing poorly keyed songs in his ears. His remaining sanity will soon be questionable.

At least, the fat High Septon, nicknamed Fat High Septon for obvious reasons, seems less moronic and like a waste of time than the Walder Frey duo of doom. No, he certainly cannot beat them. 

Or at least, it’s what Theon though at first before seeing the fat man get stuck in the doorway of the apartment. It takes only two priests pushing and two others, who thankfully have preceded the High Septon in the apartment, pulling at him to actually get him in there. It goes without saying that the morbidly obese man doesn’t visit much more than the living room, seeing as the doorway there is wider than any other rooms. 

Theon doesn’t mind it that way. He goes sit on the nice orange couch, his favorite spot in the whole apartment apart from the heavenly bed. By then, Theon doesn’t feel like talking much. He smiles politely, hoping that nobody notices how he’s already losing faith in their Faith of the Seven group.

After having confirmed with Theon that the ghost is indeed in the same room as them, they start some kind of chorus psalm to reinstate the soul of the lost in its right path. And of course, what would be a religious incantation without a priest waving some kind of water-filled rattle around, splattering water everywhere around. 

It would seem even more effective if the fat priest could actually see Robb. But instead, he just keeps spilling his holly water blindly all around the room, missing the ginger hair of a good three feet when Theon tells him to aim where the ghost is standing, an hilarious smirk on his face.

“Dude, you’re so mopping that mess up!”

And Theon does so once the ridiculous gang of Septons leave the apartment, after having promised that the poor lost soul has now found back its path to the death realm. Even though said lost soul is still standing a few feet from them with such a huge smile on his face that Theon feels some nerves throb near his temple. He doesn’t stay to see the ridiculous hassle the men go through to get the fat High Septon out of the apartment, busying himself instead with fetching a bucket and a mop. But from the chuckles he hears from the hallway, the ghost sure finds it entertaining!

“Please mate, tell me you’re not over getting rid of me! This is just _so_ fun!”

The ghost tells him once the entrance door has shut closed behind the last Septon, a smile so annoying on his face that Theon wish so very hard he could get rid of.

_ _ _ _ _

In the next two weeks Theon finds himself busy to no end reading through his books while uttering weird incantations while doing weird gestures with candles, or supposedly magical rock, or even once a rabbit foot! That one goes to garbage the instant the incantation is over! When he’s not doing one of those, he’s going through the yellow pages to find yet another scamming exorcizer, or ghost hunter or whatever the name they give themselves! 

He hasn’t counted the amount of persons who enters his flat, allegedly feeling the chilly presence of his ghost without ever seeing the ginger hair man, murmuring, chanting, incanting, bellowing at him and ever for some, roaring at him to leave the apartment, to go find back his path to the other world, or whatever else!

No matter what they do, Theon almost always finds himself busy afterwards cleaning their mess. The hardest one so far has been the one who had traced some kind of weird mandala on the living room floor with a red wax cray. Theon’s arms went dead after scrubbing that one off the floor.

The whole thing has become so exasperating and at such a fast rate, that he doesn’t find it in him to laugh or even smile anymore at the hilarious nonsense some of them go through to get rid of his ghost. He didn’t even crack a smile as he saw Mirri Maz Duur burning some smelly candle while agitating a medallion with some winged beast on it around the flame so as to produce weird shadows on the walls that she ordered to chase the spirit away! Even the ghost was so bored by now that he barely lifted a brow.

And then came the red priestesses. Women clad all over in red, with their hair dyed red and jewelry all with red garnets and everything on them is just so red. Theon feels himself go weak in the knees when he first sees them enter his apartment. All the red reminds him of other women all covered in red, but that time it was blood on them, and they were dying under _His_ hands. 

“They sure as hell don’t go half way with the red to earn their names.” Robb says beside Theon.

His two missing fingers suddenly feel painful under their prosthetics, just as the gums in his mouth seem to throb from the ghost of the horrible pain he felt when he woke from getting his new teeth implanted. Theon has to excuse himself for a small moment to go empty his sick stomach. It’s only after he rises again on wobbly legs and shakily rinses his sweaty face with blissfully cold water that he notices the ghost in the reflection of the mirror.

Theon waits for the dropping shoe, for the snide comment or poor joke the other man will throw at him about his uneasiness around the red women, or just how lame he is in general. But it actually surprises him when the ginger hair man says nothing, and instead watches him with some concern in his eyes. Is it really that bad? Has it come to a point where he imagines things in his apparition man’s eyes or said spirit pities him so much that he cannot feel in himself to give another hit and smash Theon even more down than he already is?

“The pink syrup in the pharmacy if you open the mirror. You should take some. It should help.” Robb says before leaving the room, no more comments or derisive smile on his lips.

Theon shouldn’t do it. It’s not as if he can trust the ghost with anything. They aren’t friends. Theon is even trying to get rid of him. Yet he does open the cabinet under the mirror and take the bottle with the baby pink syrup. He’s kind enough to pour some in a glass rather than just serve himself directly on the bottle. And it does help. 

At least he doesn’t feel like throwing up anymore when he goes back to the living room, where the red women are doing small tricks with throwing flames from burning incent stick over their shoulder and behind their back. At first Theon startles, fearing they will put the floor on fire or something. But there’s not even a spot of burnt wood where the fire fall. So in the end he just goes to the orange sofa and sits on it, head in his hands both to not look at the women who make him uneasy and nurse the birthing headache behind his eyes. 

Robb comes sit beside him at some point, but remains mercifully quiet. He just states after a long silent while the most obvious thing in the world.

“They will set off the smoke sensor.”

And as if on cue, a bipping alarm starts over their head two seconds after the words are out of the ghost’s mouth.

All the red women but one jump at once and all but run toward the entrance door to the apartment, looking startled by the alarm mechanism. Only one, their leader, Melissandre of Assai remains behind, looking totally unfazed. 

“We have done as much as we could to purify with fire all evil from this place. It will be under the only and true god R’hllor to decide what becomes of the evil spirit plaguing your life. You shall pray to him and devote yourself faithfully to him and only him to allow him to purify you and bless your life.”

Then she extends her hand and gives some membership pamphlet to Theon, before leaving with a dramatic turn of her robe which makes it bellow behind her. A corner of Theon’s lips quirk up as he realises the woman has totally copied the gesture from Severus Snape.

“It’s me or she obviously borrowed that thing with her dress from the Harry Potter’s?” Robb exclaims beside him, a smile on his lips.

Theon only nods with a small increase in his smile. They seem to both share that one small moment of friendly banter. But then it becomes awkward, and they both fall silent, their smile dropping to nothing. They are still invaders to one another, enemy in other words.

_ _ _ _ _

“So that’s where you live!” 

Theon would expect a following statement about how nice the flat is, or how the view is awesome, or how the place seems to be a haven on earth. That would be the kind of formality expected from a normal person. But his guess right now doesn’t fit in what we would call normal. So of course Theon is not surprised that nothing follows the other man’s statement.

He’s still not sure of what he’s doing. But hey, when you’re desperate like Theon is right now, you would take anything if it could solve the matter. 

Jojen doesn’t say much more before simply walking to the nice orange couch and sitting on it, looking blandly around before relaxing in the orange softness. Seriously, Theon doesn’t know what compelled him to bring the boyish man with him after his visit to the paranormal bookstore again to find other solutions to his ghost problem. The book seller talked with him for a while, and asked him all kinds of strange questions, to the acts of the ghost to what it sings, then to what kind of tooth paste Theon uses, to what phenomenon the ghost has produced so far around Theon, back to what kind of cereals Theon eats in the morning. Theon still feels a bit dizzy from all the jumble mess of questions he answered the weird bookseller but he has accepted to have him come to his flat to assess the situation. 

And Theon was still waiting for him to do something, _anything_. 

And the question is out before Theon could refrain himself. 

“Aren’t you going to do anything?” 

He asks with a hint of skepticism. Such a luck the guy came for free, otherwise it would be such a waste of money, and Theon has already wasted so much!

Jojen turns his head to look at Theon, and even that simple motion is bland and slightly unnerving. 

“Hey, I’m not some lame charlatan. I’m not going to dance and sing or chant some weird incantation when I can work well enough from here!”

The teen-ish young man says with close to no intonation or change of emotion in his voice. Then he’s back to relaxing in the couch while looking boringly around him.

“That one is dull! I hope you find a more entertaining one next time!” 

A too well-known voice says from just beside Theon. He’s so used by now after weeks on end of having the ghost randomly appear out of thin air around him and talk out of the blue that Theon doesn’t even startle right now. He barely nods his head in agreement though. Another waste of his time!

“I feel something!” Jojen says with a frown, his forehead creased in deep concentration. 

“How original!” Robb exclaims beside Theon, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

“It’s quite cynical!” Jojen states matter-of-factly.

“Hey, not bad actually!” Robb concedes just beside Theon, this time sounding far less skeptical. 

“And hostile. It really wants you out!” Jojen continues, not aware of the interruption.

“I like that one!”

“I’m not leaving!” 

Theon and Robb cry out in the same time, before glaring at one another.

“I really don’t see why.” Jojen says while looking around dismissively. “That apartment’s not that great!” He adds bear seconds later.

“What are you talking about?”

“Hey, what’s wrong with my flat?”

Theon and Robb asks, still synchronic. If anything, they glare at each other more contemptuously before glaring back at the weird book seller. 

“I don’t see what’s so special about it!” He adds matter-of-factly.

“There’s a fireplace!” Robb cries out, outraged that he even has to state it.

“And a view!” Theon adds after the ghost, not believing that he has to state it.

They both look at each other, and for one surreal moment, all hostility is gone again. They seem to share something, like an acknowledgement of one another. _So sad he’s so annoying, he’s got such lovely eyes_! The thought barely has time to reach Theon’s mind that the moment is gone again.

“If you say so!” Jojen answers unconvinced. His frown has deepened some bit at their shouting. “ Hey guys, my throat is parched! Do you have some kind of soda?” He asks all hopeful.

“Of course! In the kitchen.” Theon answers, taken aback. 

He gestures toward said kitchen, indicating to Jojen to precede him.

“Seriously! What kind of lame education did you have that you don’t know how rude it is not to offer any drinks when you have invites?” Robb asks with disappointment in his voice

“If you’re that much better educated than me, why didn’t you say anything when he first came in!” Theon quietly bites back, barely managing to keep his cool.

His comeback has the benefit of shutting up the ghost, although Robb still glares at him with contempt.

A few moments later, Theon and Robb both stare as Jojen proceeds to gulp down a whole can of coke in one strike, before reaching for a second one and doing the same a second time.

“Well, he certainly was thirsty!” Robb says, eyes still focused on the teen-ish man.

“You look like you haven’t had some in a while!” Theon adds in stride.

Jojen looks sheepishly at him, as would a boy caught red handed in the cookie jar.

“My sister never let me have coke. She says I become all over-excited and rambling when I drink some. Which is not true, just so you know!” Jojen finishes with too much conviction in his voice. 

“Okay. Well, back to my problem, what do I do with my ghost? Is there any way to send it back on its path to the other world?” Theon asks, looking intently at the medium bookseller so as to not look at Robb. 

“For god’s sake, how many times must I tell you that I’m not dead?” Robb shouts from the other side of the kitchen.

“And how many times must I tell you that you most certainly must be so to be here all popping out of thin air and going through solid furniture.” 

Theon says, all matter of fact. He looks pointedly at Robb, and where his foot his seemingly impaled by a chair leg. Robb glares at it and move it in a matter of microseconds, before raising back his eyes to stab Theon with his eyes. 

“I. AM. NOT. DEAD! I don’t know why you’re the only one who can see me, but I’m not _DEAD_ .” The ginger hair man says through gritted teeth. He’s all shaking, making a few stray sheets of paper and yellow pages tremble around him. 

“Hey man, I don’t think that spirit is dead.” 

Jojen says, earning the attention of both Theon and Robb. His brows are back to being creased together in hard focusing, and he’s rubbing his temple with one hand, as if he’s starting a headache.

“See, even he agrees that I’m not dead, and he’s the specialist!” Robb says, victory and relief all over his face.

“What do you mean he’s not dead?” Theon asks instead, still not believing that the apparition plaguing him could be something else than the ghost of a dead young man.

“Only that! He’s not dead! Actually, I’ve never encountered a spirit as alive as that one before. It’s vibrant, and really present, and… I don’t know. Whatever happened to him, he’s not dead.” 

Jojen says, talking in a way such as one who can see would talk to one who could not. Still looking somewhat confused and at a loss for words, he raises his eyes to look at the only person he can see in the room, which is most obviously Theon. And he really looks at him, as if for the first time, or because trying to perceive the supernatural presence in the room has awakened his eyes to other visions. Theon already dreads what the medium is going to say before Jojen opens his mouth and starts to talk.

“But you though! Your aura… It’s so dead. Seriously pal-” And with that the teen-ish man stops himself and uses his hands to draw in the air some weird figure he’s the only to see around Theon. “It’s killing you.”

“Even more reasons to get rid of this ghost.” Theon says while looking hard at the grain of the mahogany table. He acts as if he doesn’t hear Robb’s groan of annoyance. He hopes his attempt at changing subjects will work. 

“I’m not talking about him.” 

Jojen says, making Theon’s heart feel heavy with lead in his chest. Please don’t say it.

“I’m talking about the other one. The one you still let have a grip on you.” Jojen adds against Theon’s wishes, eyes filled with concern and sympathy. 

And suddenly Theon feels his heart skip a few beats in his chest, and his lungs constrict painfully. Hell, it has been more than two years since R… _He_ died, and Theon as gone through countless sessions with Tyrion to help fix himself. And yet, it’s still as painful as the first day to think about _Him_.

“Oh my, what a joke!” Robb cries out amidst chuckles. “You’ve been dumped and you can’t let go!” He teases, seemingly still on his annoying strike against Theon.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Theon groans with a voice thick with emotions. 

“Let me guess, he’s left you for a man who’s not scotched to his tv and drinking alcohol like one drinks water!” 

Robb jokes, giving a stronger hit this time. Oh god, has he really become as bad a drinker as his father? At a look at the recycle bin and the mountain of booze cans pouring out of it, evidence of his greatest guilt, Theon feels bile rise in his throat.

“Shut up.” He groans to the apparition, a warning in his voice.

“What is it? You can invite all the whole religious body, all kinds of medium and magicians and nutcases to curse me, banish my evil presence out of MY apartment, treat me like a monster, and yet you can’t have it if the tables are turned?” Robb shouts angrily. And still, he keeps going a mere heartbeat later “You can’t have it if we suddenly talk about the ex who dumped you…” 

“SHUT UP!” 

Theon yells back, totally out of himself. Suddenly it’s too much for him, he can’t be in this room with other people. The urge is so strong to do as when he was Reek, that other person he’s so ashamed of, and just go hide where nobody will look at him. The concerned look in Jojen’s eyes, laced with sympathy and understanding, is the thing that ends him. He turns on his heels and walks away.

“Sorry mate! I know how hard it is to lose somebody!” Jojen calls back from behind Theon. 

Theon shuts the door to the bedroom before he could hear anything else. So he doesn’t hear it when the medium adds some low spoken words, more meant to the spirit than him.

“You ought to have more respect for the dead. Even if the world is better off without that sick bastard.”  
_ _ _ _ _

Theon doesn’t know how much time passes after his escape from the kitchen. But by the time he feels the presence of the apparition near the closed door of the bedroom, he’s all bundled under the heavenly soft bedsheets, wrapped in it until there’s just the top of his head popping out of the covers. He’s feeling dizzy, and sleepy, and his throat and his arms are hurting from having shouted in a pillow while punching others as if his life depended on it.

“I’m sorry for what I said in the kitchen. It was rude, and so awful.” The ghost says.

Theon feels his eyes moisten at that. Less because of the apologetic words than the sheer sympathy and understanding in Robb’s voice. He closes his eyes. Maybe if he shuts them hard enough, he’ll go to sleep now. He’s certainly feeling tired and on the brink of passing out soon enough.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Robb asks after a while.

Theon looks up and sees the other man sitting in the chair just the other side of the bedtable, looking down at him with concern. He’s biting his lower lip and twisting his hands in signs that betrays his anxiety. All Theon can think about right now is how cute the red hair is when he’s all anxious. If the man was not so intangible, Theon would like to hold the other man’s hands in his, cross their fingers together and sooth those fine, dexterous fingered hands with his as Theon presses his lips to Robb’s ones and busy them in a different way.

Theon blinks. For longer than necessary. Until his fuzzy mind stops providing him with debauched images of him and his ghost. Spirit. Whatever. When he looks up again, Robb is still here, looking intently at him.

“I know I’m a total stranger. And I might have taunted you way too much. I’m usually not like that. Around people I mean.” The red hair man starts to say in an excuse.

And the thing is that the way he looks at Theon right now, all vulnerable in his apologetic concern, his blue eyes the softest thing Theon has seen in a while. Suddenly Theon feels like he genuinely wants to talk about… stuff… in a way he sill has never felt before around anybody else, even Asha or Tyrion.

“His name was Ramsay.” He starts with a thick voice, before Robb could say anything else. 

Just these four little words are enough to alleviate such a weight on his chest that Theon suddenly feels all dizzy from the queer sensation of being lighted head as well as feeling all light in his chest too. He’s going to sick up, he thinks. But then it passes.

“He was so much to me. A rescuer at first. A friend, then a lover after. He helped me out of the streets after I left my da… father’s home. He was rough, and rude, and a bit brutal I guess. But he made me feel safe. And special I guess. He had that way of making you feel like you were someone special. And for the first time of my life, I really felt like… I don’t know. Like I was important to somebody. I felt loved, in his own rough way. And I loved him back.”

Theon has to swallow hard because of the lump forming in his throat. His chest constricts in pain as he remembers with nostalgia the first few precious weeks with _Him_. With Ramsay. He closes his eyes to not see the small tender smile on Robb’s lips. It will be gone soon.

“But then he became something else to me. He would get angry at small things, like me forgetting to bring out the garbage to the trash bin, or saying a few misplaced jokes. He would hit me at first. But then it just became worst and worst. And by the time I saw his real face, it was too late. He had so much on me. Stuff I’m not proud of. I could not get out. He had ensnared me little by little, until I was so caught up in his mess that getting out would mean more trouble than I could deal with. The things I watched, or even helped him do to others! The things I let him do to me then!”

Theon lifts his right hand to his face to wipe a few stray tears from his eyes. His prosthetic finger doesn’t bend like his real ones do. He shoves the thought away when it comes to him that he must look like such a baby to Robb, older than him and still crying like a child.

“Is this him who did this to your fingers? I mean I saw them, but though it might be some weird accident while sawing wood or something” Robb asks with a voice so very soft. 

Theon nods, head lowered to not look at his face when Robb realises just how much he let Ramsay do to him.

“But then, you got out! I mean, did you run away when you realised how bad it was getting?” 

Theon closes his eyes at the question. And shakes his head no. 

“I should have. The first time Ramsay hit me, I should have run. But I was so weak. Have always been so. I tried to be better for him, to be what he wanted me to be, and tried harder and harder. And he punished me harder and harder. Until I became something I’m ashamed to remember. His creature. His precious R-R-ee-k. He owned me then, in ways nobody should.”

Robb looks on the verge of crying himself by now. His eyes too are moist, and Theon has the feeling that if he was materiel, Robb would try to pat his shoulder. He doesn’t know if it’s a relief or not that he can’t do so.

“But then somebody saw. They help you?” Robb tries with a voice thick with emotion.

Again, Theon finds himself shaking his head in negation. Oh he wished somebody would have seen him then. He had pried so much in silence for anybody to see him and rescue him from Ramsay’s clutch. But the only ones who saw him were Ramsay’s friends, or his victims. And nobody ever were in a position to care about him or help.

“It happened when I had stopped hoping for it. Ramsay and I were on a car. He was driving us home after having done something awful. A girl- a body was in the trunk of the car, with all kinds of compromising stuffs. He was in the speed limit, respecting the firelights. He didn’t want to attract unwanted attention. He was crossing the street on a green light. But then this car didn’t stop on their red light. They came at us from Ramsay’s side at full speed. I was the most damaged one, with missing fingers, and way underweight and sick. Just a mess of a creature Ramsay had shaped to his wishes. I should have been so easy to break. Yet all I had was a concussion. Ramsay and the couple in the other car died on the spot.”

Theon still felt so very sad that it had taken this couple, at the wrong time at the wrong place, to save him from his lover/torturer. Had it not been for their mistake, he might still be living with Ramsay.

Weirdly enough, Theon has been feeling lighter and lighter as he spoke. And now he feels more than light-headed. He feels even more dizzy than when he started to talk to Robb, and his mind is all fuzzy as hell. It’s a hardship to get his eyes to open up after each time he blinks.

“I’m so sorry for your loss Theon. What happened to you was horrible. I shouldn’t have joked about it!” Robb says with such guilt in his voice. 

Theon hums, both in assent and to convey that it’s okay, he understands. Between two long blinks he sees Robb look away. To give Theon some privacy as he deals with his repressed feelings, or to distract himself from the story Theon has just told him, Theon doesn’t know. His eyes focus where Robb is now looking, at the night table. And Theon’s medicine. Another long blink later he sees a look of concern, filled with horror, dawn on the red hair man’s face.

“Theon. Did you take these pills?” Robb asks with dread in his voice.

Theon looks at his bottle of antidepressants, and aspirin, out and the lid still off. He hums again, not feeling much like talking. Okay, he shouldn’t have taken four antidepressant pills instead of his recommended 2. But after having hit the pillows and shout in rage in them for long minutes, he acted recklessly and just shoved in his mouth double his usual ration if it meant the painful turmoil he felt in his mind would go away faster. And well, maybe the antidepressants and aspirins don’t mix well, but he just took some of those to quell a raging headache.

“Oh bloody hell! Theon, what have you done?” Robb asks in horror, his eyes now on Theon.

“M’okay.” Theon manages to say, his tongue sluggish in his mouth. What’s all the matter?

“You took these pills with alcohol!” Robb says with a high pitch in his voice due to his horror. 

Theon would laugh if he could. It’s so cute!

“No. Took ‘em wit’ water.” He manages to say, eyes closing on their own, and his mind lost in fuzzy-like cotton. 

“You don’t understand. I saw you gulp at least three beers before Jojen came! He wasn’t here for more than twenty minutes. You just mixed alcohol with pills. And they don’t go together!” Robb nearly screams in panic

Theon should care, and feel concern about what the red-hair man has just said. He really should. He knows he should. He’s just feeling so far away that he cannot even find in him to care about any of it. He’s just good, slipping away with certainty into oblivion.

“Theon. Oh no no no ! THEON! Stay with me! Don’t go to sleep. Stay with me!”

Theon hears it, and would like to stay where the voice is. But it’s like his drifting on a river, and the current is bringing him further and further away without him being able to do anything to prevent it.

“Theon! Stay with me! Theon! THEON!”

And then everything falls into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for everybody more cognizant than me if the ending of this chapter seems not too acurate on the meds/alcohol reaction. I did some research, but am really not an expert with overdosing on meds. I wanted something accurate, yet not too far fetch for the characters. If somebody has a better idea as to what cocktail of meds could cause Theon to collapse and nearly die, while not looking like he really tried to suicide, I'd be glad to update!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

He’s in heaven. Everything is so perfect, so warm and blissful. Everything feels just right for the first time in his life.

But then heaven turns into hell. It starts with his head hurting like never before. Like his head has become the piñata for a whole classroom of hyperactive kids. And they keep banging. And banging. And banging again. It might be because of that that something in his stomach feels heavy and pushing to get out.

It feels like an eternity of that before the confusing mess his brain is in clears some. When Theon finally opens his eyes, lids heavy and resisting after having been shut for what seems like ages, it’s only to shut them again because of the brightness in the room. Okay, next time he goes to sleep, he’s certainly not forgetting to shut the blinds before.

It takes few tries of blinking his protesting eyelids to get used to the brightness in the room, but then he gets used to it. Still, his whole body feels mushy and it’s so hard to move. And damn it, it feels like it’s late in the afternoon, and it’s frustrating that he’s been out so long. He groans, if only to feel like he can do _something_ .

“You’re awake.” A voice says from near his side. 

Theon’s eyes drift to where it’s coming from, only to blink hard at what he sees. Or rather who. Robb. The ghost, or spirit. Or whatever else he is. 

He’s all huddled in a chair near the bed, arms around his knees as he looks straight in front of him, in an unseeing way. The thing is that he looks like a mess too. Like they had the same night of drinking and abusing the kind of wrong thing which makes you feel so right for a few moments, then so much more awful when you wake from it. It comes to his messed up mind that of all the time Theon has seen him, it’s the first time he sees the ginger hair man looking… different. Like he was frozen into a certain image of himself before, but now he’s somewhat faded, and his skin looks a whole set of shades lighter. If anything, it looks like he’s had the wrong kind of all-nighter.

“Do you know how lucky you are that you’ve woken at all?” Robb says, voice all shaky.

If Theon did not feel sick before, that simple question sure would put a number on him. As it is, he feels his heart sink lower in his stomach. His mind is still somewhat groggy but things are getting clearer by the instants. Painfully so.

Memories of the previous night flash in Theon’s addled mind. His eyes go to the night table, and the evidence of his emotional crisis of the night before. Damn, he really messed up! He’s never once went over his prescribed dose before. Not once. And then yesterday he felt so raw with emotions, with being reminded that he was – is still haunted by Ramsay, and the whole situation with his new haven haunted by Robb, and all what he said. Something snapped and Theon overreacted. 

“Don’t you know? I’m Theon Greyjoy, here to disappoint all expectations.” Theon laughs half-heartedly, an unconvinced smile on his lips. 

If Robb could just laugh, or smile, or do anything which is not looking at him with such misery. Theon already has so much trouble dealing with the mess he is, he’s not sure how he could handle a distraught ghost on top of that. 

But the ghost doesn’t do any of those. He sighs, and rubs his eyes before passing his hand through his hair and look up. He doesn’t look any less serious. Quite the opposite. Where there was some hints of concern before, there are now disappointment. 

“I suggest you drink a lot of water. Take a shower, and go eat something which is part of at least one group of the alimentary chart.” With that he rises from his chair, and passes through the closed bedroom door. 

It doesn’t feel like he’s totally gone, like _gone_ gone. It just feels like he’s somewhere else around the flat. Theon would normally rejoice at having the ghost somewhere else than in his vicinity. But knowing it’s from being disappointed in him makes this victory feel all so dull. 

Feeling all kinds of numb and groggy, Theon does rise from the bed and walk to the bathroom. He swallows an entire glass of water, feeling the cool liquid clear his mind some more after only a few gulps. But then the aftertaste of alcohol, and medicine, and old remnants of coffee still left in his mouth from the night before make him nearly throw it all up again. Hell, it’s like something has died down his throat, and has been left to rot there for months so awful it feels. He’s _so_ never forgetting to wash his teeth again! He uses nearly thrice the amount of toothpaste he would normally use on his teeth, and brush his teeth twice to make sure the taste vanishes.

He feels much more like a normal human being after his shower. He doesn’t remember the last time he took one totally naked, totally unconcerned of having a ginger hair ghost glare at him while he’s at it. He’s half tempted to have a nice, peaceful… time with himself. But somehow, for once that the opportunity is there, the mood is not. Still, only to have had this moment all for himself, and feel more clean than any other time in the past few weeks is already such a great blessing that Theon nearly feels all dopey from the happiness when he gets out of the bathtub. 

Somehow, feeling all nicely fresh and clean shaved gives him the urge to dress up more nicely than usual, and he decides to indulge himself into putting on one of his finest button down shirt and a just as fine dark jean. Gold embroidery motives on black are such a killer on him. 

His tummy starts grumbling angrily when Theon steps into the kitchen. He opens the fridge door, not expecting much seeing as he doesn’t remember when was the last time he troubled himself with buying grocery. Surprisingly, it seems like he had bought quite a lot recently when he did go shopping. He finds some eggs. He doesn’t remember getting them, but the date is still good on them, so it cannot have been too long ago. He also finds a box of prebaked bacon, still half full. With a can of beans, he does find himself with a quite decent meal, and he’s so hungry by then.

It’s only after having wolfed half his meal down that Theon notices Robb. From his spot in the kitchen, he can see the ghost sitting on the wide and nicely cushioned windowsill of the living room. Harms around his knees, the red hair man is looking through the window with a somber face, seemingly lost in mind. Theon cannot brush away the feeling that something is really wrong, and it’s his fault. He tries to not care so much about what a stranger apparition who’s annoyed the hell out of him for weeks now could resent from Theon. Normally he would shake the feeling away for just anybody else. Theon would pay the world to get to understand why, but for some unknown reason, it just doesn’t feel right to do the same to Robb.

He forgets all about his half-eaten meal – he’s not hungry anymore anyway – and stands from his seat. Only to be surprised by the buzzing of his cell phone through the pocket of his jeans. He took his cell phone from his night table and put it in his pocket? It sure seems like it. He doesn’t waste much more time getting confused over it and promptly answers the call, not even wasting time reading who the caller use on the screen. 

“Hello?” He says hesitantly.

“Theon! I’m so glad you picked up. I’ve been trying to reach you for hours now.”

It’s Tyrion’s cheerful voice. Theon is always so glad to hear it, although he would never admit it to the dwarf man. Not because of fear of being embarrassed, but because he doesn’t want to make Tyrion’s head swell from pride. Yet the call cannot come at a worst moment, when Theon has just taken the resolution of going talk to Robb to try to fix things up.

“Oh sorry. I was asleep!” Theon answer, eyes still dragged on Robb, who still hasn’t lifted his eyes from his glare out the window. 

“Wow! Wait a minute. You’re telling me you’ve been sleeping all day long? Theon, is everything okay?” Tyrion asks from with concern from the other end of the receipt 

Shit. Theon curses inwardly for his own damned stupidity. He should have just said he hasn’t noticed the calls, or whatever else. He can’t really explain to Tyrion that he’s kept seeing Robb ever since their last chat. And he can certainly not mention his emotional crisis of last night, leading to his unconscious mix of wrong stuff. He searches for an excuse for his sleep over. He finds nothing. 

“I don’t know. I must have been really tired.” He says lamely, the urge to barge his head against the wall quite strong in him.

“Okay. Well, whatever it was, I hope you’re feeling quite in shape now! I’m meeting with a bunch of nice friends tonight. At the Fury club. And guess who’s my special guest!” The dwarf asks with a tad bit too much enthusiasm. 

“The Stranger.” Theon jokes. 

“Seriously pal.” Tyrion answers him, deadpan.

“Well, seeing as you’re not the kind of guy to agitate a treat in one’s face only to give it to somebody else, I assume _I_ would be your lucky guess.” Theon answers with a smile on his face.

“Okay, I give you the point because you’ve been nice enough to compliment me. But seriously Theon. What do you think of it? You, me, a bunch of nice friends, some of which who _might_ be seeking a date, and the Fury. I stress it again just in case. The _Fury_. It’s members only, but I’m friend with the owner and he’s allowing me to invite a few friends over tonight. How can anyone refuse that?” Tyrion asks him with a voice so convinced that Theon could not do anything but agree with him.

“I don’t know…” Theon starts, not feeling in the mood of being around so many people. He’d rather have a calm evening, or go somewhere more quiet.

But then he looks up again at Robb, who looks away the very moment Theon lifts his eyes on him. It’s obvious something is bothering the ghost. But Theon cannot fathom what it is.

And then it hits him that it’s been weeks they have been all cooped up in the apartment, with barely a few getting-out from Theon go get some food or some beer. Maybe it would do him some good to grab this opportunity and have a nice evening out with some friends. Robb would sure benefit from having his own space for a while too.

“You know what; forget about what I was saying. Count me in!” He says with some renewed spirit.

“Oh yeah! That’s my man!” Tyrion cheers. 

A minute later, Theon hangs up with all the information he needs to meet with Tyrion and his friends. He doesn’t have much time to waste before going on his way there. But at the very least he just showered and dressed more than nicely enough to go out.

“You’re going out?” Robb asks, eyes now casted on Theon. 

Is it Theon, or Robb seems somewhat disapproving. And he’s still sporting a sombre face. What’s so wrong with the ghost? 

“Yeah. I’ve been invited by a friend to go to the Fury. It’s one of the nicest club in the city. It would be a waste not to go.” Theon answers levelly.

Robb nods, a pensive expression on his face.

“And you’re sure you’re feeling well enough to go there?” He asks, an edge on his tone betraying his doubts. 

“Well, I could be better. Maybe some fresh air and good company could help make me feel even better.” Theon answers him, feeling like he’s thirteen and trying to defend his point to his disapproving father rather than all grown up and on his own.

“And there will be alcohol.” Robb states matter-of-factly.

And here’s the word Theon dreaded to hear. Of course, the ghost has to rub it in his face that he’s drinking way too much for his own good. And even that is an understatement. Theon feels the little good mood he has leave him just there and then.

“You know what? I’d offer you to come with me. Some fresh air could do you some good. It would sure do me some. But maybe it would be an even better idea if you just stayed here.” Theon voices with a beginning of anger in his voice.

He turns around and makes his way to the entrance door at an angry pace. Only to open it and see Robb waiting for him there, arms crossed on his chest and a resolute expression on his face.

“I’m coming with you.” He says with a tone of voice which leaves no place for arguments. 

And it’s not like Theon could do anything to prevent him from following around. Not when he’s plagued with an intangible apparition.

Mercifully the ghost is quiet all long their journey. Which unfortunately stresses how wrong things actually are. Usually he’s annoying with his irritating cheerfulness that he uses to pester Theon with all day long. Somehow his cold silence feels surreal. Or more than it can be in their situation. It’s to a point Theon wishes things could get back to what they were before last night.

His relief cannot be greater than it is when he finally gets in sight of the Fury. The street is blue from the light shining from the entrance gates and the windows of the second story. A huge sign of a stag in yellow neon on black identifies it as the great Baratheon nightclub. Everything on the outside screams that the inside can only be posh. 

Theon walks to the entrance with anticipation. Will he need a card, or an invitation pass or something? He should have asked Tyrion about it. Yet once he’s at the gate, and a bodyguard looks down at him, he just has to say that he’s with Tyrion Lannister to get a cold nod of the head and be admitted inside. Which is quite a surprising relief.

And the inside _is_ a sight. Most obviously the designers of the place were paid an hefty amount of money to make this place look modern, and expensive. The lighting systems cannot be more high-tech with rays of lights in blue and golden hues dancing everywhere around, in the most extravagant way. The tables seem to have been made in mahogany or some other expensive dark wood. And the armchairs are cushioned in either heavily worked leather, like vintage luxurious cushions, or in different places in yellow, long high and elegant modern chairs. The paintings are all moderns abstractions, with the Baratheon crest hung here and there. And some vases with glass plants on which the light plays amazing tricks are scattered around the huge first story room. A wide spot has been left bare to make a dancing floor, on which a small crowd is already eagerly dancing to the rhythm of techno music.

“Wow!” Robb says, impressed as he looks at the whole place with wide eyes.

“I know.” Theon answers him, not even looking behind him at the ghost.

“I assume you’re used to come in places like that!” The ghost says from behind him.

“Actually, not that much. One of my uncles, Euron, once invited me at a place like this one. He’s friends with people who own clubs like that. But I got so drunk I cannot remember much of the event. Besides, he invited me the once, for my seventeenth birthday, just to piss my father off. It was just a onetime deal.” Theon answers with honesty.

He’d rather have a more neutral discussion with the ghost than to bear his presence if he’s all disapproving and sombre.

“Theon”

Theon hears from up him. He lifts his eyes to look at the provenance of the voice, already guessing it’s Tyrion’s voice before finding the dwarf sitting at a table on the upper floor, in plain sight from his spot near the entrance.

Theon waves at him to indicate that he’s spotted him. Then he proceeds to worm his way between standing groups of people and chairs. So much that by the time he manages to find the stairwell to climb to the second story, Robb is waiting for him. Normally, he would do so with arms crossed on his chest and a brow lifted as he smile victoriously at Theon. But now, he’s just waiting with a guarded expression on his face.

Theon cannot be more glad than he is when he finally get to meet back with Tyrion and his bunch of friends. They’re all sitting at a round table near the guardrail, large enough to host eight persons, the eighth being Theon himself. Tyrion waves him on the seat beside him, interrupting his discussion with a pretty brunette to greet Theon.

“I’m glad you managed to come. You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure!”

“I’m sure too!” Theon laughs with his best smile plastered on. Robb snorts behind him.

“It’s funny. He looks somehow familiar.” Robb muses behind him. Theon ignores it.

Theon gets to learn that the pretty lass the other side of Tyrion is named Shae. She looks at him with polite disinterest, her eyes all on Tyrion. The other ones barely register in his mind, his attention all focused on the pretty red hair thing on the other seat beside him. Tyrion knows that Theon is quite flexible in sexuality matters, and it’s obvious he’s tried to plug him up with the hot girl. She sure his, with milky skin, and blue eyes and her fiery curls falling sensually around her face. Her name is Ros, and he gets to trade a smile with her before a waitress come take his order. And all hell break loose.

“Water would be fine!” Robb cries from behind Theon.

“A Scotch.” Theon provides, totally ignoring the ghost.

“Don’t you dare drink that! There _are_ other solutions.” Robb admonishes him, now standing just behind Ros, in Theon’s clear sight.

“You’re not my mother.” Theon answers him pointedly. “Make it double!” He tells the waitress, who’s now looking at him as if a second head has grown out of him. 

“I beg your pardon.” Ros asks him with outrage on her face.

“Oh no no no ! I didn’t mean you. You don’t look like my mother!” Theon tells her to sooth her.

 

“I swear Theon, if you dare drink any of that drink, I’ll seriously make you regret it.” Robb tells 

“As if I was not already regretting you being here right now.” Theon answers him spitefully.

“Hey, who the hell do you think you are?” Ros questions him scornfully.

The others might not have heard what happened earlier, too focused in a discussion on their sides. But Ros’ tone sure get their attention all on Theon and her.

“Theon, don’t tell me you’ve brought your friend with you.” Tyrion chides in a whisper to Theon, just loud enough so that he and no one else can hear.

“You can see him?” He asks him, suddenly feeling relieved that he’s not alone anymore in his predicament. 

His drink suddenly arrives, and Theon is fast to grab it and near it from his lips.

“I warned you.” 

Is all he hears from Robb in an angry groan before a rush of cold overwhelms Theon. Actually, cold would be too kind. The chill which overtakes him is so intense that if feels like his blood has been replaced by liquid nitrogen. His whole body freezes on the spot, his control over it gone. And then, the hand which is holding his drink not an inch from his mouth suddenly moves as far away as it can without splitting from his body, slushing some of its content on the table.

Theon fights the invisible force that is Robb taking control of his body, waving his hand back toward his mouth. Okay, so he does not desperately needs to drink his scotch, although it might look a lot like it. He just wants to make a point that he _is_ the chief of his own body. 

He could not have believed things could go as bad if somebody had warned him. As things are, Theon finds himself madly struggling against his own body in what must either look like the lamest circus performance, or the freakiest nutcase outburst. He must definitely look like the latest, what with the way he screams “Give me that back”, or “Let go of me, you freaking ginger”, or again “If you don’t leave me alone ASAP, you can say goodbye to coasters on your mahogany table.”

Which earns him a slap. By his own hand. A hard one at that. Ouch.

“Theon stop! This is not cool man.” Tyrion calls beside him, upset.

And of course, because things _have_ to get worst, the scotch unfortunately ends up being plastered on the unfortunate person just beside the struggle. Which so happens to be the stunning and sensual Ros. Who suddenly looks like a tigress. A really drench, angry tigress ready to pounce on him and rip him into shreds.

Robb must think it is his cue to get out, not that he leaves Theon’s body. No, Theon finds himself awkwardly walking away with stiff and protesting limbs as he still fights to regain control of his body. Thankfully people clear him a path on his way out, looking at him as if he has grown a second head. And thankfully, Tyrion retains the enraged tigress’ attention, trying to explain to her that Theon is not all well, and he had thought that getting him out with good friends would do him some good. Theon cannot hear more after that, but damn, he regrets not having simply bailed on the dwarf rather than create such an embarrassing scene in front of his friends.

It’s only once they pass the entrance door of the pub and get out on the street that Robb frees Theon. Who falls on the ground on the spot the moment he finds himself struggling against nothing at all. 

 

“Ugh! I feel like I really need a shower.” Robb has the gall to say before walking off away from the Fury.

“How can you bloody dare say that to me? Do I have to remind you that I was the one who got invaded, in my own body, by your freaking ghost?” Theon shouts in anger. “Now thanks to you, I’ll pass for a total lunatic in front of all these people.” He adds with a tremor of despair.

Damn it. His chance to get out, to meet other people. To think of just anything else but his haunted flat, or the ghost who plagues his life, or Ramsay. Or his mess up of the night before. That, and he was finally meeting with people, having a chance at being normal again.

“You didn’t know any of them anyway.” Robb points out in a dismissive tone.

Only to call back Theon’s name as this one turns around and storms away. And then he sighs with exasperation.

Theon is so angry. It just cannot be described. He’s sure he’s not felt this level of anger in years, since his teenage years with his father. Seriously, what has he done wrong in his past life for things to go this shitty in this one? 

He doesn’t look where he’s going. He’s on auto-pilot, not even thinking about his location as he crosses streets at wolfish pace, barely stopping on red lights before storming of again once the green goes on. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes as he walks and walks through countless streets. He totally loses track of the time and everything else. It’s only convenient that when he finally gets too tired to keep walking, his feet and his knees aching really bad as his chest is heaving for breath, he suddenly finds a bench to sit on. Head in hands, gulping air as one would water after three days in a desert, Theon lets himself rest in a bubble where the rest of the world doesn’t exist anymore. He nearly dozes off, feeling totally exhausted.

“You know, I really _am_ sorry that I screwed up your night with your friends and a nice club.” A voice whispers beside Theon. 

Somehow, the quiet words manage to resound through Theon’s skull as if they have been uttered in a loud and echoing voice. He winces, not prepared to have his quiet moment disturbed again. But then the apologetic words register in his numb mind.

“I just couldn’t look at you wasting yourself with alcohol again.” Robb adds with a thick voice.

Theon turns his head to look at the ghost, noticing in doing so that he has ended up in some park with a few other threes and other benches along the pathway. Robb is sitting beside Theon on the bench, just far enough to give him his space. The ghost looks as distraught as he did this morning, this time slumped on the bench with his head tipped up to look at the sky.

“What is it to you if I drink? Isn’t it my problem after all?” Theon asks grumpily. 

Robb laughs. But there’s absolutely no mirth in it. It sounds more like despair, and exhaustion than anything else. 

“You have no idea, don’t you?” He asks, although it sounds more like an affirmation than a question. 

He looks sideway at Theon, studying him for a while, before looking up at the sky.

“You could have died. You would not wake up. I kept screaming your name over and over again, but you would not react. You just laid there, all pale, barely breathing, and I could not say when would be the last…” And with that his voice breaks. 

Dread starts to fill Theon’s chest. He had no idea it had been as bad. That he came so close to kill himself, even if it was by accident. 

Robb swallows hard, then his eyes go on Theon. There’s so much distress and pain in them! Theon doesn’t know what to do with all that.

“I tried to scream for help. I called for somebody to dial 911! For anybody to come in. But nobody came. Nobody heard.” With that Robb swallows and sniffs a few times. “Then I ran out the apartment. I screamed, and kept screaming and screaming. In the other floors. And then in the streets. But nobody heard me. Or saw me. It was as if I didn’t even exist.” Robb’s voice breaks at that.

Now Theon feels so awful because of the implication of what Robb is saying that he all but feels a well-known misery fall back on him. He would so like to be able to touch the apparition right now, if only to reassure him some bit.

“It made me realise that there really is nobody apart from you who can _see_ me. I don’t understand why or how it is. But the truth is that when you’re not here, it’s as if I just vanish. As if I totally stop to exist.” 

Robb’s voice is so quiet as he says the last few words that it’s barely a whisper. Yet it feels like Theon’s ears are ringing from the admission. He clears his throat, searching for what to say to make things right, or rather as right as it can be in their situation. What with Robb haunting the apartment and all their annoyance toward each other.

“So yeah, it kind of concerns me when you drink. It concerns me if you take no care of yourself, or just decide to waste away. Because if something happens to you, it might as well happen to me. I’m here only if you are too.” Robb ends, looking at Theon with moist in his eyes.

Theon feels a pang of pain in his chest at the sight of the pain and the misery in them. Who looks down, not knowing what to do with himself, and sight.

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Is all Theon manages to say after a while.

“Well, me too.” Robb answers him, looking down too.

“I usually don’t drink as much as you’ve seen me do, you know. Circumstances recently have made things harder, and I started drinking way more than usual.” Theon says to defend himself. There’s no excuse for the total loss of control over the alcohol that he experienced. But still.

“I assume that “Circumstances” is a polite way to say an annoying ghost haunting the apartment that you just rented.” Robb jokes with a tiny shard of smile on his lips.

“Do remember that you just said the words, not I.” Theon answers back with the beginning of a smile on his lips.

Silence falls again on the both of them. But this time, instead of being angry, or tensed or anguished, there’s something more comfortable to it. Theon looks at the stars for a peaceful while, finding in it some kind of comfort. It has been years since the last time he has simply stopped and enjoyed a moment of pure calmness while looking at the stars. He must have stopped when his mother passed away.

“You know, I’m tired of fighting all the time with you.” Robb admits, again being the one to break the silence.

Theon could point out that it’s Robb who started the whole deal with him following Theon around while singing annoying songs all day and night long, or that he has been the most hostile of the both of them, or even that he has tried to get along with Robb some bit. But he doesn’t feel in the mood of wasting the mood by arguing. Not when Robb is finally the one to brandish the white flag.

“And so am I. Could we just struck an understanding where I try to respect your flat and your furniture, and take more care of myself, and on your side you give me some more air?”

“I can try that I guess.” Robb says with uncertainty, quite obviously feeling uneasy about something.

“Okay, you can follow me some. But this thing about singing and chatting and everything at all time, it has to stop. I mean, could you just act, like, more normal? Less like you want to have me sent to an asylum.” Theon concedes to the red hair man in a casual voice.

“Okay. That, I can do!” Robb answers him with much more conviction.

“Oh, and the bathroom is mine alone. No following me there or peeping on me.” Theon adds, his tone adamant as he watches the ghost with his best expression of “don’t argue with me there”. 

Robb blushes and looks down at his knees, a small smile on his lips. He _has_ been watching Theon! Somehow it makes Theon’s heart flutter in his chest. 

“Okay. I’ll let you have your privacy.” Robb concedes sheepishly. Only to continue with some newfound vehemence. “But you _will_ use coasters. At all time. And you’ll force yourself to eat better, not just drink less alcohol.”

“You know that you’re quite assertive about your possessions for someone who doesn’t even remember his last name, least of all the rest of his life.” Theon comments with a raised brow and sarcasm in his voice.

“And you’ll help me find out who I am.” Robb adds with a tone which leaves no room to argumentation. 

“And what if I don’t?” Theon asks, more playfully than seriously.

Robb gives him a flat glare in answer.

“As it is, I think you have two choices right now. You can admit the possibility that I am a lost…”

“Ghost?” Theon fills in for Robb.

“Spirit. Don’t you ever say the G word again. Well, either you admit the possibility that I’m a lost spirit, and help me find out who I am and how I can get back to my body.” Robb says in a reasonable voice.

“Or?” Theon asks, confused. 

“Admit to yourself the possibility that you’ve lost all your sanity and are now having quite a convincing discussion with thin air, on a bench, in the middle of the park.” Robb says while pointedly looking past Theon’s shoulder, chin lifted in challenge.

Theon looks around at the deserted park, only to spot a couple sitting on a bench not too far away from Theon. They’re looking at him in quite the puzzled way.

“I assume I’ll go for the first option. I’ll also assume that it would be better if we have that discussion somewhere less public.” Theon says between his teeth, not daring making more of a show of the discussion he’s having in front of the perplexed couple.

He stands up from the bench, ready to walk home. Only to be taken by quite the realisation.

“Do you know how to get back to the flat?” He asks Robb.

“Are you really asking directions to an amnesiac?” Robb asks with sarcasm and a flat glare.

“I hate you.” Theon groans.

If there’s less conviction in the words than there was before, it doesn’t change anything. Isn’t it?

**Author's Note:**

> TBC


End file.
